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peachysunrize · 6 months ago

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Labyrinth ⥃ Aemond Targaryen

Summary: falling in love is easy for most people, but not for Aemond Targaryen. How can a broken cold-hearted man be able to love the most gentle human Westeros has ever seen?

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Smut, p in v, very very gentle, angst angst angst angst!!!, humiliation, reader is Daemon & Laena’s oldest daughter, no description for reader (besides white hair) you can imagine her however you like, Aemond is a vulnerable & insecure baby girl, like he is really really insecure, mentions of murder, fluff, nightmares, chronic pain, mentions of Aemond’s injury, anxiety attack, babes are in looooove, English isn’t my first language<3 it’s very heavily plotted and the smut is at the end of the story.

Word count: 11.5k (she's so long but worth it)

a/n: I’ve always wanted to write something with this kind of trope, especially when it’s from the man’s pov, and there’re so little fics that get into the depths of Aemond’s pain and suffering so I needed to try and write something that says his part of the story as well! Please please tell me your opinions and favorite lines of this piece! I’ve worked sooo hard for this fic and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did! Reblogs and comments are appreciated<3🩷

A very special thank you to my babies, @namelesslosers & @neptuneiris for beta-ing and supporting my ideas😭🫂✨

“Where is duty? Where is sacrifice?”

Aemond watches the scene unfold in front of him; his mother seeking justice for him, slashing Rhaenyra’s forearm with the dagger in her hand, spilling her blood in fury.

He looks around the room, finding you scared behind your grandfather, looking at him with wide teary eyes. He scowls when he sees how you look at him with pity, thinking he is a deformed monster in your eyes, to his best friend’s eyes.

You leave the hall in a rush, and he scoffs at how unbearable he must look for you to go in such haste, allowing this injustice to wreck his world and him to cope with the aftermath alone. How could you leave him like that? What happened to all the hours he helped you build that stupid sandcastle next to where Vhagar lays? Did you forget every moment, every laughter you had together?

He stands up and walks to his mother, telling her that Vhagar is worth it. But is it true? It might be worth gaining the largest dragon alive, but in the back of his mind, he thinks about how he has lost you.

No, you left him, he hasn’t done anything wrong. He is the one with his eye in a tray, he is the one who needs tending to for the first time, and you left him while he and his mother were humiliated by Rhaenyra and her bastards.

The morning comes sooner than expected, the milk of the poppy knocked him out immediately last night. He walks down the stairs where his family is gathering to leave, his mother holding Helaena’s hand while god knows where his father is, probably saying his goodbyes to his daughter and Princess Rhaenys.

Aemond moves toward the hill that Vhagar is sleeping on, catching the sight of you waiting for him next to the sandcastles he helped you build yesterday after your mother’s funeral.

“What do you want?” he asks, standing in front of you, trying not to frown too much to loosen his stitches.

“I-I wanted to ask how you were doing…”

“After leaving me all alone? You were my friend! I needed you and you left me! And you ask how I am after I got my eye cut out?” He shouts at you, waking up Vhagar from her drowsy nap.

“I-I don’t have any excuses, but Aemond, please—” “No, I hate you! I hate your stupid hair, your eyes, your laugh, even-even your sandcastles! They are so childish and-and ugly!” “I know you are upset with me, and I’m so sorry for what happened to you, but please let me—” “No!” he yells at you again, marching toward the castle next to your feet before he stomps all over it, screaming and crying while he ruins the perfect sculpture he himself has made for you.

“Aemond…” the sob that wrecks through you makes him stop, but you are not looking at his feet, you are looking at his face, crying for him. He doesn’t spare a glance at you when he walks to climb Vhagar’s saddle, but guilt overwhelms his emotions and dread fills him.

You just wanted to talk, and he treated you so poorly even if his anger was justified.

Oblivious to him, as soon as he and his family were gone, you ran to your grandmother, crying in her arms and begging her to allow you to study with Maesters, in hopes that someday you may help your childhood friend with the pain he will carry for the rest of his life.

•••••••••••

Jacaerys’ name day, another pathetic excuse to have his sister and her pups in the capital under the same roof, drinking and wasting the crown’s money. He can’t blame them though, they’re desperate to get on the lords’ good sides by showing off their heritage, going with songs and praises for the heir after his mother.

Unnecessary, stupid…

Aemond groans, running his hand over his face as he wakes up with the sounds of banging in the hallway. He knows that they’re arriving today, and he’s aware that the royal chambers should be ready when his sister makes a face, but to wake him up at such an early hour after the rough night he had should have severe consequences.

With another deep groan, he sits up on his bed, looking at the sea from between the sheer curtains of his room, watching the sunlight shine bright on the surface of the water, Sunfyre and Dreamfyre already taking turns in the sky over the city.

He stands up, looking down at the soaked undershirt he had on during sleep, exhaling deeply as he pulls the fabric off, slamming it down on the couch as he walks to the balcony to get some fresh air. The morning breeze hits his sweat-covered chest, stinging the empty socket of his eye.

He knows he should go back inside, to cover his scar and avoid pain from the cold wind, but the contrast of the coldness of it on his heated skin is soothing his mind, calming his beating heart. He will regret it during the day, but for now, after experiencing yet another nightmare, he needs to feel alive again.

As soon as the sharp pain starts from the depths of his skull, he moves back, shutting the door and pulling the curtains closed. He stands straight, his nails digging inside his palms as he controls, or tries to control his breathing.

It always starts like this; a sting, then another one but sharper, then a minimal pain that surrounds his scar, and finally, the stabbing pain all over his face followed by the worst headache someone can ever endure.

He reaches for the nearest surface he can lean on, knuckles turning white as he keeps his weight up, trying not to fall on his knees just yet.

He can do it, he has done it countless times.

Aemond steadies himself on his feet before he sighs shakily, walking towards the clothes his mother’s servants laid down for him yesterday. It is a simple outfit; a leather tunic with black pants and a fresh beige undershirt. Nothing too fancy, and nothing less regal that a prince should wear.

He takes his time while getting ready, allowing the phantom pain of his eye to fade away slowly. Before he can button up his tunic, his chamber servants come running in, putting a bowl of water with a warm towel on the side desk while they prepare his breakfast. He covers the left side of his face with his hand so as to not scare them with the unbearable sight of the empty space in his face.

He watches them with a sleepy gaze as they clear the room, slamming the door behind them. Aemond sits in front of his mirror, taking the brush in his hand to untangle his unruly hair.

There are no thoughts in his head as he stares blankly at his reflection; he hates his scar with a passion that could set the realm on fire. There is no gentleness in his features, everything is sharp, angular, and rough. There is no trace left of the boy he was before his nephew took out his eye.

Doomed before he could even try to become someone worthy.

He ties his hair, revealing more of the healed wound and the dark empty socket on his face. Sometimes he gets stuck inside the labyrinth of his head, running and running until he reaches the middle, but it’s never enough. At the end of the maze, someone drops dead; whether he kills them or they kill him. There is no escape from these dreams, from these self-destructive thoughts that haunt him day and night.

He reaches for a box on the vanity, pulling out the sapphire gem before reaching for an ointment Maester has given him to help the gem fill his eye socket without pain.

He looks at himself again; he looks less like a brute, the gem adds to his beauty but in his mind, it’s not enough, it’ll never be. He sees his brothers, healthy and handsome, being subjected to women’s attention all the time, and sometimes he wishes desperately to be in their place, to be able to talk to a lady without frightening her. But he has learned that a maimed man is less worthy than a whore in Streets of Silk, so he exercises and trains daily to become worthy again, to live up to his Targaryen name. There are deep yet little scars adorning all over the skin of his hands and arms — a reminder of how he has become the man he is.

He eats his breakfast in silence, tension rising in his shoulders as the smoke of the candles on his desk reaches his eye. He drops his spoon on the table, blowing the candles out before he reaches for his eyepatch.

He has told everyone that there shouldn’t be any scented candles in his rooms, but as it seems no one ever pays attention to what he has to say, not even to help with the pain of his eye.

He stands up, knocking a few plates on the table to the floor, smearing fresh fruits on his carpet. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, but he can’t care less about anything other than the fact that he needs to join his family in the throne room — and he does after he grabs his dagger and secures it in his belt.

“Ser,” Aemond nods at his appointed guard, earning a ‘good morning, my prince’ from him. Aemond walks down the stairs with his head held high, scoffing at the servants who make a path for him hurriedly, trying to avoid being seen by him or see him.

The bustling of the castle is irritating; everyone is running from one corner to another and decorating the keep for their princess’ arrival. He is not annoyed that he has to reunite with his sister and nephews, but because he has to endure their presence for longer than necessary, to look them in the eye and act civil as if the pain he copes with already isn’t enough torment from them.

He nods at Ser Cole, who follows him into the crowded hall, eying everyone who is waiting for the Realm’s delight. Aegon and Helaena are standing side by side, his sister is clutching Aegon’s arm tightly as the crowd makes her feel small under its gaze. His mother looks at the throne silently, and he can see the hesitation in her eyes — how are they going to go through these weeks of celebration, they have no idea.

“Good morrow, Mother,” he whispers as he stands behind her, his eye softening at the small smile she gives him, “you look radiant this morning.”

“Hush you, sweet talker,” she chuckles lowly, rubbing his arms lovingly, “have you heard about the Velaryons’ arrival?”

“Lord Corlys is coming as well?” he asks, shifting on his feet nervously, his fingers tightening slightly on Alicent’s elbows, “I did not know…” “Neither did I, darling. They shall arrive at the same time as Rhaenyra, at least I know Daemon’s eldest will.”

“Driving on dragonback, obviously,” he mutters, sighing shakily.

Alicent notices his hesitancy, she gently cups his cheek, forcing him to look her in the eyes, “Do not project your anger on her, she was but a child.”

“Yet she kept silent that night. She was supposed to be my friend,” he says, looking away from his mother, lowering his head in shame, beating himself for letting his emotions take hold of him.

“Give your courtesy and leave if you wish not to talk to her,” Alicent smiles sadly at Aemond, patting his cheek before they both look at the doors of the hall.

Something in his guts drops when he sees Rhaenyra entering, her family walking towards them, all smiling and laughing as if they aren’t going to experience the most dreadful weeks of their lives.

“Your grace,” Rhaenyra says, trying to break the visible tension between the families. The crowd goes silent, and the only thing they can hear is the soft exhales of the people close to them, everyone waiting with bated breath to see what happens in a few seconds.

“Princess,” Alicent smiles, “welcome back to your home,” she replies politely, giving Daemon a half courtesy before she congratulates Jacaerys for his eight-and-ten name day.

“Aegon…”

Aemond looks away from his sister as she acknowledges them all, instead his eye finds Daemon’s who is staring back at him with a smirk on his face. Aemond’s gaze doesn’t waver, and Daemon chuckles at that, giving him a challenging look.

He looks back at Rhaenyra who says his name, giving him a forced smile before she turns around quickly and asks for the King.

“He is quite unwell, he shall join us in the evening,” Alicent explains, telling the maids to make haste and set the garden ready to start the celebrations; nothing too fancy for the noon, a tea gathering in the garden to reunite everyone, or at least to make sure the court has something to gossip about.

Aemond follows them slowly, taking time to observe each and every one of them. He can’t shake the uneasy feeling that settles in his chest as his eye finds Lucerys Velaryon, laughing and looping his arm with Rhaena. He looks away immediately, lips forming into a sneer as he walks with his hands behind him, grinding his teeth while he thinks about how he was robbed of everything good because of that bastard, because of the hideous scar he gave him.

The garden is filled with new bushes; roses, lilacs, daisies, and surprisingly winter roses. The sight would have been quite beautiful if all this fuss wasn’t for his nephew. He walks away from the crowd, making his way toward his siblings who are trying to appeal content with the events. Helaena is in her own world, lifting a worm from the ground as she counts its feet. Aegon is gulping down his wine while he listens to Daeron telling him about whatever book he has read these past few days, or at least he seems like he is paying attention.

Aemond sighs, grabbing a goblet of wine himself to nurse on it as he tries to distract himself from the chilly wind that hits his face. Luckily the eyepatch covers his eye socket fully and doesn’t let the cold breeze hit his scar, but the tension in his bones has remained from the morning rush of pain he experienced earlier. It’d be best if he left this pointless gathering earlier anyway.

“How are you faring this beautiful morning, brother?” Aegon asks him, grinning sarcastically. Daeron groans in response, even though the question wasn’t meant for him. Everyone can tell he is fed up with Aegon’s constant teasing of Rhaenyra’s family coming back to Red Keep.

“Well enough to know I will be leaving in a few minutes,” Aemond replies, sipping on his wine as he catches Luke stealing glances at him. Pathetic, he is too scared to even look at him properly, he is glad though, it gives him a sense of comfort to know the mark he has left on his face scares him enough to keep him away from him.

“Can’t do that! It’d be rude if you left without saying hi to our favorite Velaryons.” Aegon smirks, tipping his head back as he laughs at Aemond’s sneer.

“As much as I hate to say this, but the idiot is right; you can’t give them more reasons to resent us,” Daeron says, looking at his older brother with kind eyes, “besides, they are here anyway.” he points at the passageway leading to the garden, catching the sight of Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys walking side by side toward the crowd.

Aemond’s heart stops for a second when his good eye lays upon you, following your grandparents with a gentle smile grazing your lips. You are a sight to behold; silver hair falling around your shoulders like curtains of moonlight that shine bright like a diamond beneath the morning rays of sunshine. Your gown the bluest of blue that shows your devotion to your mother’s house, and your lips painted pink in the most alluring way…

Aemond’s eye sees a sight his mind can not comprehend, too unreal and beautiful that makes him doubt if he is seeing you with his sapphire eye through the patch.

His face is blank, but his heart is beating so fast he can hear his pulse in his ears. His eye follows you, watching you bow before his mother and sister, looking away immediately to find your sisters already giddy to hug you. Rhaena is the first to run to you, wrapping her arms around you while Baela approaches you slowly, letting her twin have her moment with you.

He doesn’t move from his spot, he can’t move even if he wants to; he’s struck between shock and something he can’t pinpoint; he can only say for sure that he hopes it’s a rush of adrenaline of not seeing you for so long.

The only time he looks away from you is when Daeron pats his back and encourages him to join everyone to say hello and welcome your family to the Keep. He doesn’t need to say a word, just a nod at both Corlys and Rhaenys is enough, but when you turn around to greet him and his siblings, his breath gets stuck in his lungs.

You look at him from beneath your lashes, beaming so radiantly at him that he almost forgets the pain in his eye or the pain he has caused you the last time he saw you. The world around him fades away, the noises become distance as his sky-blue eye finds yours easily, and he has to swallow sharply while he desperately tries to keep his face stoic and serious and not show you how he is panicking from inside, palms sweaty and lips drying while he gazes at you, his childhood friend who… suddenly the bubble around you breaks and he remembers how you abandoned him that night at Driftmark.

“My lady,” he says in a hushed tone, watching your reaction closely.

“My prince, it’s so good to see you again,” you grin at him, “I hope you are doing well.”

“As well as a half-blinded man can do,” averting his eye from you, he regrets the words he said immediately, flushing a bit in embarrassment, but when he looks back at you, your smile hasn’t left your face, if anything you look at him with empathy and much kindness that he has a hard time believing you are real; it’s been too long since anyone has looked at him with such sincerity.

“Darling,” Daemon steps closer to them, ruining the moment for Aemond to say something, anything to take back what he said earlier.

He watches your smile wavering a little when you look at your father, hands fidgeting with the skirt of your dress. He notices how you try to ignore your father and Rhaenyra as they approach you, a tense smile on his sister’s lips while she tightens her grip on her husband’s arm.

“We have missed you, the girls, and I,” Daemon says, reaching to caress your hair as gently as the Rogue prince can, “you did not visit us at Dragonstone.” “I don’t like it there, the castle unnerves me,” You reply softly, “I rather enjoy the silence of grandsire’s castle.” “You are a Targaryen, you should visit your ancestor’s sit,” Rhaenyra tries her best to persuade you to think about coming back with them, leaving your lovely grandparents alone.

“I’m a Velaryon just as much as I’m a Targaryen, but ‘tis not a matter we should discuss at such a joyous day, don’t you think, princess?” you say, and Aemond sees it in your eyes how desperately you wish for the conversation to end. Aemond watches his sister’s words falter, her confidence crumbling with each word that you utter. Your statement is not rude, not even filled with malicious intent, but the mention of your Mother’s side of the family makes the Targaryen couple uncomfortable.

“I would have loved to stay and talk with you, Father, but I’m afraid the journey on dragonback has left me starving. Please, excuse me,” you nod at them before walking past them to the corner where Aemond and his siblings were sitting minutes ago, reaching for a glass of wine to gulp down.

Aemond doesn’t spare a glance at the couple, following you closely so he can sit in silence and out of the sun, truly not wishing for another fit of agony that consumes his skull.

“You have grown, Aemond,” you sit beside him, turning your head to look at his side profile, “no longer the child who used to build sandcastles with me when I would visit the Keep.”

“Yes, no longer a child with friends. Spending years apart without any contact, surely you are not that surprised how I have turned out to be,” he scoffs at your words, frowning when he turns around and finds you chuckling gently, “Did I jest about something I’m not aware of?”

“No, no, I just remembered how we promised to never let anyone break us apart, but you were the first who did so; you stomped your feet on my sandcastles the morning after my Mother’s funeral. You are right though, no ravens were exchanged, but I do hope you’re still the sweet prince who helped me study.” your lips twist into a small smile.

You are not angry with him, how can you not be angry with him? You had spent hours after they freed your Mother’s soul into the sea to find the perfect place to build your sandcastles and he ruined them the morning he was about to leave.

Your teary eyes have haunted him from that moment to this day.

“I apologize, I did not wish to remind you of that night,”

“I’m reminded every time I look into a mirror, do not concern yourself.” his reply is curt as he gazes at you, your eyes full of sadness and sympathy for a man you no longer know. Or maybe you know him too much, he thinks.

“I look forward to spending time with you, my prince. I hope we can catch up on each other's lives.” “Perhaps we can,” he sounds unsure of himself, Getting to know you again while you have turned into a woman grown — the most beautiful woman he has ever seen at that — is going to be a challenge he does not know he welcomes or fears greatly.

•••••••••••

He leaves sooner than he should, hiding in his room with a warm towel on his face as he soothes the pain of his eye, the headache he had since morning finally fading away. There are so many thoughts lingering in his head, and ironically, they are all filled by you; your gown, bright smile, and gentle personality.

He groans, so frustrated that he has met you a few hours prior yet you have consumed his every thought. If he focuses hard enough, he can see the labyrinth of his nightmares, the hedges are covered in ivy, suffocating as they reach for air — he thinks of him as the hedge, and how easily he has let you wrap yourself around his thoughts this quickly.

Weak, he thinks to himself, he’s weak.

He sits up, dropping the towel in the bowl on his nightstand, breathing deeply as he looks around his dark room, spotting a lit candle on his desk in the corner.

Sometimes it baffles him how his room represents his inner self so openly; it’s not messy, no, but if you squint you can see the abandoned book in the foot of his chair, ink dripping from his pot on the carpet, the candle illuminating the trail of black paint on his desk. It seems as if his room is showing the ugly part of itself to his eye, and for a second he thinks about how he sees himself — an ugly monster with an unsightly scar.

Aemond leaves his room a few minutes after fixing his eyepatch and hair, walking to the king’s solar to join his family for dinner. He walks with his hands clasped together behind him, looking straight to avoid eye contact with anyone who sees him on his way up the stairs. He doesn't expect to see you of all people, heading out of your room to take the same path as him.

“Aemond!” You say his name with such enthusiasm that has his heart racing again, beaming at him as if you are excited to see him. How could you be this giddy to meet him? No one has expressed to be happy to spend time with him, let alone smile at him the way you do. Is this an act of modesty? It has to be, he thinks, or else it does not make sense at all.

“My lady,” he bows his head politely, “How come you are late for such an interesting gathering?”

You giggle a little, walking side by side with him, “I was spending some time with Helaena’s children. Oh, they are such sweet babes!”

“Indeed they are,” he replies quietly, watching you curiously as you round him to stand on his good side, “what are you doing, My Lady?”

“I did not realize I was on your blind side, Aemond, forgive me,” “There is nothing to forgive,” he sucks in a harsh breath, pondering over your response for the rest of the way til King’s solar. The silence is oddly comfortable even though he gets a bit nervous when you keep glancing at him.

There’s an unusual warmth spreading through his chest, he can’t understand it — it can be his heart since it’s beating too hard and fast, or perhaps even his lungs! He can’t even breathe properly, but at the same time, he feels… right, much better than before. He blames you for the conflicted emotions, it’s all your doings, he is sure. Because whenever he looks at you, he feels as if his clothes are suffocating him, his ears ring while the world fades around him, and the center of his world becomes you.

Weak, worthless, he has just met you, yet all these years apart seem blurry to him, as if he has known you since the age of the Firstmen; so familiar and comforting, even though you left him alone the night he needed you the most.

The guards open the door to the solar, and Aemond follows you inside, his eye wandering all over the room, taking his surroundings in. His mother and Rhaenyra are sitting at the table, his nephews are standing on their mother’s side while Aegon is trying to listen to whatever lecture Otto is giving him.

He watches you walk to your sisters, wrapping your arms around Baela and Rhaena as they both start talking to you about the things they have done during the past years you’ve been Lord Corlys’ ward in Driftmark.

“You’re staring,” Daeron says out of nowhere, pulling Aemond out of his thoughts but he doesn’t look away, he keeps his eye trailing on you until you turn around and catch his eye as well, smiling broadly at him.

“I am merely observing,” he replies, but knows his brother is right. It’s only the first dinner but he can already feel his eye itching to be on you again.

“Whatever makes you happy,” Daeron shrugs, leading him to Aegon and Helaena to sit down.

He finds an empty seat next to him, thinking Daeron is the one who’d sit beside him, but when he sees it’s you who reaches for the chair, his heart leaps to his throat before he composes himself quickly, pulling it out like the prince he is.

You give a smile that is worth countless gold dragons, and for the second time today, he questions if the sapphire is a magical eye, because the world turns a bit brighter and less dull when he looks at you. He sits next to you, his eyebrows twisting into a deep frown when he sees Lucerys at the other side of the table engaged in a deep conversation with Rhaena, playing the role of the happy family quite well.

Everyone stands up when the guards bring in the King, everyone except for Helaena but neither she nor Aemond pays any attention to others. One is busy playing with her hairpin, and he is busy admiring your ethereal face as you kiss the king, your uncle’s cheek, thanking him for having you and your grandparents in his home after so many years. As soon as Viserys sits behind the table, you take your place next to him again, giving him a small smile before you turn your head to listen to what his father has to say.

He knows what his father is about to say; first, he thanks them all for coming, paying special attention to his grandsons and Rhaenyra while he lies over and over again about how much he loves them all, how they should never let the House of the Dragon fall into ruins, oblivious to the fact that not Rhaenyra nor Alicent were the ones who broke the family into different agendas, but it was him who started the flame.

Tonight, Aemond doesn’t look at his sister to attend to her. His eye is solely on you, taking in the shape of your lashes kissing your cheekbones, carving the silhouette of your nose and lips in his memories. He looks at the way your lips curve into a grin, cheeks forming into the most beautiful shape he has ever witnessed.

You turn your head a little to glance at him, catching him red-handed while he tries to play it cool, but he finds that he is not powerful enough to look away from your blown-out pupils and the orange hue that’s cast on your irises softly.

He breaks the eye contact, a scowl forming on his face as he reaches for his goblet of wine, nearly throwing the goblet across the table when he hears Lucerys laughing at the two of you.

You beat him to it before he could open his mouth, “Is there something funny, Prince Lucerys?” your voice is so soft and slow, almost humiliatingly sweet, and funnily, it terrifies Luke.

Aemond smirks as he watches his nephew stuttering over his words while everyone around the table sits in uncomfortable silence, waiting for the young prince to say something, anything.

“I was surprised by how fast Uncle Aemond took a liking to you, given his looks and all,” he explains, sarcasm dripping like honey from each of his words.

Fucking bastard, Aemond thinks to himself as an ugly sneer sits on his face. As much as he wants to leap toward him and cut off his tongue, he can’t — not when you put your hand on his over the hilt of his dagger.

Your skin is so smooth atop his calloused one. The way your fingers wrap around his wrist sets his body on fire, burning the skin in a way unknown to any man, but this is no ordinary burn; there’s no trace of fire, no long-forgotten ashes of his bones are visible, instead his fingers twitch for more, begging for more skin to skin contact, but he pulls his hand away from you without looking away from Luke’s blushing face.

“Your words are mean for no reason, Lucerys, given how it’s been your doing that has caused Aemond his scar,” you say, “I find him quite handsome actually. He was my beloved friend when we were younger. There are, of course, many feelings between us. Nothing has happened out of the blue for you to mock him for.”

“I-I apologize, good sister, I wasn’t…”

“It is not me who you should apologize to, it’s Aemond. I have taken no offense on my behalf but I do believe you owe him an apology.” You explain, sipping from your glass slowly while keeping your eyes on Lucerys.

No one, not even the King has the strength to intrude into the situation, maybe in doubt of saying something to hurt you, or perhaps you’re just speaking the truth, and for once, everyone fears your gentle mannerisms.

“I apologize, uncle,”

Aemond’s stare is blank as he looks at Luke who’s chewing the inside of his cheek in embarrassment. He nods, not bothering to reply to him; he will never forgive nor forget what he has done to him, crushing his hopes and ruining his worth for a lifetime.

“Let us put our differences aside, and become a family again,” the king says, coughing before he reaches to drink from his cup.

The dinner goes smoothly from there and to Aemond’s surprise, he engages in more conversations with you. He does not talk too much, he’d rather listen to your giggles and stories rather than talk about his boring and miserable life.

His eye always lingers on you for far longer than it should, not in an inappropriate way, but more in a sense of intrigue and curiosity, trying to understand you from his perspective. He simply can’t though; you are worlds apart. He is a cold-hearted, broken, and worthless man when it comes to your bright and beautiful personality. Even if he gets to know you again after so many years, he would never think himself worthy enough to be in your presence.

“Aemond…?” you call his name oh so sweetly, making him feel as if he is on top of Vhagar, flying atop the city while the wind blows in his hair; it makes him feel alive.

“Yes, My Lady?”

“Are you alright? You look quite flushed,” You smile sweetly, reaching to put the back of your hand on his cheek, flustering him even more than he already is.

“Yes, yes, I might have had too much wine,” he doesn’t know who he is trying to convince; you or him? By the sound of it, it’s him who needs to be convinced that it’s the wine in his blood and not the same unknown feeling he gets when you look at him. No, it is definitely the wine. It has to be.

“Oh, well then, I wish to spend more time with you if you are not against it,”

“Why would I be?” he asks almost too quickly, making you chuckle at his… enthusiasm. If he can even call it that.

“Then I’d be overjoyed if we could rebound what we had as children.”

•••••••••••

After the dinner, something between you and Aemond shifted; he spent more time outside his room, he was calmer and less serious, and the pain in his skull was almost gone. You joined him in the library a few times in the next few days, meeting each other at your door to attend the meals side by side, and almost everyone could feel how he was changing the longer he had you close, almost turning into the little boy he once was.

Both of you forget your last interactions as an act of mercy for the other.

With your insistence, he agreed to miss the tourney being held for Jace’s nameday to sneak out of the castle and take you to the beach. He did not need much convincing, but when you gave him those doe eyes with a little pout on your lips, he felt weaker than he ever did and gave in immediately.

Aemond helps you down the rocks near the shoreline with your small hands in his, taking cautious steps down to not trip over and hurt yourself. He keeps his eye on your feet instead of his, worrying more about you than himself even though he is stepping down with his good eye on you, not looking where he is going.

That seems to be a bad decision, because the next second, not only does his foot miss a small rock, but yours slips on one too, tumbling into his arms as the two of you fall on the soft sand, Aemond’s arms wrapping tightly around your back to keep you steady.

He looks at you, panting as his eye widens at the closeness; your faces are inches away from each other, and he can feel your soft rushed exhales on his lips. You look like a goddess atop him, the sun illuminating your silver hair, reminding him of the last sennight when you arrived and your hair made your face shine even brighter.

He has never seen such a beauty before, sure he has seen the ladies of the court, but your Valyrian beauty combined with sunlight and the blue hue of the sky has him mesmerized, not realizing how his hands are gripping your waist while he stares at you.

You giggle at first, then break into a fit of laughter while you lean more into him, dropping your forehead on his shoulder as you laugh wholeheartedly.

He chuckles lowly at first, then matches your laughter and throws his head back, holding you on him by one arm while the other comes to run over his face.

“I have never heard you laugh so freely before,” you say after you have calmed down, putting your palms on either side of his face while you hover over him.

“I don’t remember having a reason to do so,” he replies, smiling up at you.

“I’m glad that I’m able to bring joy to your life, you deserve it.” leaning down, you press a gentle kiss on his cheek before standing up, smoothing down your skirt.

He is at loss of words, speechless to his core. He deserves it, he thinks, do you truly think a monster like him deserves any chance of happiness? How are you not disgusted by him, his scar, his sour and mean tongue? How can you ever leave a butterfly kiss on someone as unworthy as him?

He looks at you from where he is staying lying on the sand, watching as you extend your hand to him, rocking on your heels in anticipation so you can go and wander on the beach and reunite with the sea.

He grabs your hand, standing up on his feet as well. There is sand in both of your clothes, but you have just begun your venture and won’t stop until you are satisfied.

You don’t let go of his hand when you start jogging, pulling him with you as you giggle in delight. And he observes you as he always does; wind in your hair, waves crashing against the shore while your laughter fills the air around him. He doesn’t realize his smile has widened and he is following you just as excited, letting the sand and the sea separate you from the outer world.

“You promised you would make a sandcastle for me!” you say, pulling him behind you to the spot where you would sneak away as children, sitting down to get to work.

“I did not,” he replies, unbuttoning his tunic so he can stay under the sun without being bothered by the heat.

“Fine, you did not. But you ruined the one we built together at Driftmark so you owe me one!”

He chuckles at you, his dimples on display as he shakes his head, “Alright, I will make one for you.”

It took you a good few hours to finish the sandcastle; it could have finished much sooner if you hadn’t thrown wet sand at him, cleaning your dirty hands with his white cotton undershirt just to annoy him — and it worked. In a second, he was chasing you around the beach with hands full of wet sand curved into balls, throwing them at you.

And here you are now, fingers laced together, shoes in one hand as you both walk on the shoreline, letting the waves cool your feet. You point at the sunset, leaning on his side when you come to a stop to watch the sky change color as the sun goes down.

Aemond on the other hand, looks at your calm face that is glowing under the pink and orange sunlight. How did he get so lucky to be blessed by such a beauty to lay his eye upon? Maybe he truly deserves this unknown feeling that spreads through him like fire and makes his fingers tingle and his heart beat in happiness. Maybe he deserves to be loved by you and love you unconditionally in return.

You turn around, dropping your shoes before you reach up to cup his cheeks. He closes his eye and basks in the attention you give him; so unique and pure. He drops his boots as well, arms circling your waist to pull you closer.

Aemond doesn’t dare to open his eye, fearing that he might ruin this perfect moment as you trace the lines of his lips, his cheekbones, and his jaw. You are so gentle with him, something he is not quite used to. It has always been him, alone in a cold room, but now and here with you, he feels as if he can breathe again, and forget every pain he has endured to reach this moment of his life.

“Open your eye, My Prince,” you whisper before you peck the corner of his lips, pulling him in so you can rest your forehead on his.

He obligates, sighing shakily when he finds you already looking at him. Your gaze is so genuine that somehow scares him, a rush of destructive thoughts comes into his head, but you seem to notice it from how his hands shake on your waist.

“Don’t think about anything, just… just focus on me.”

He does as you say, his brain shutting those annoying voices at the back of his head down as soon as your nose brushes against his, your soft lips brushing over his so endearingly. He is hesitant at first but when you peck him again, he moves forward as well, meeting you halfway until his lips are locked with yours.

You taste as sweet as the strawberry cakes you had this morning, if not sweeter. The way your lips move together makes his head hazy. You are kissing his breath away, leaving him begging for more. His chest moves up and down quickly when you break the kiss, and you caress his thin swollen lips, bruised by your kisses and lack of air, while he admires you from head to toe.

The sun has set, but the glimmer of love has risen inside of Aemond’s broken heart.

•••••••••••

A kiss here and there, more sneaking around the castle and to the beach until the main event for Jace’s birthday arrives. He is in his mother’s solar, listening to her talk about how lovely you are and how much of a wonderful couple you would make with him if only you weren’t Daemon’s daughter.

“Mother—”

“You should dance with her tonight, my darling!” Alicent says, running her hands over his arms when he stands up and approaches her, “I have heard Daemon has plans of betrothing her. Obviously, he has yet to find someone suitable, but he is thinking about it.”

Aemond’s heart drops when Alicent says your father is looking for a suiter, fortunately, Alicent sees his surprise, shock, and fear. She reaches to cup his cheek, forcing him to maintain eye contact while she talks, “Don’t let her go if you truly wish to have her. I know that she would stand strong against her father and Rhaenyra, but she would need your support and love as well to feel brave enough to turn down a good match.”

“They would make her happier than I can ever do, Mother,” he replies, his voice breaking slightly. Losing you terrifies him, and he is aware that his mother can read him like an open book, shushing him while he inhales sharply.

“I have never seen her happier than I have with you, and I have never seen you this happy and lively, darling. Be selfish for once, choose your happiness this time.”

“How can I choose my happiness over her life?!” he asks harshly, frowning at his mother.

A knock interrupts Alicent before she can respond, and the guards open the door for you to step inside the queen’s room.

“Oh, I apologize, it was not my intention to interrupt you.”

Aemond seems to be struck by your beauty; your body is wrapped in a teal-colored gown with a low neckline that leaves your shoulders and collarbones on display. Your silver hair is braided with some parts of it pinned up, some strands framing your bare neck.

“You look so beautiful, my darling,” Alicent says, nudging Aemond a bit forward when she sees how he is looking at you.

“Thank you, my queen. You look very beautiful as well,” you look away from the queen, smiling when he approaches you slowly, “you said you were going to wear something close to this color and I decided it would look quite good to match. How do I look?”

“Enchanting,” he breathes out, reaching to hold your hand, pressing a gentle kiss on your knuckles, “You look breathtaking, My Lady.”

“So do you, My Prince.”

“Shall we then?” he offers you his arm and you accept without hesitation, looking back to see if the queen will come with you and she assures you she will come with the King.

“You said you were going to retrieve me from my chambers for the party,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder as the two of you walk toward the great hall.

“I am deeply sorry. Mother wanted to have a word with me,” he explains, dropping a quick kiss on the crown of your head.

“Is everything alright, Aemond?” you ask him, and he chuckles at how adorably your brows twist into a frown in worry. “Yes, darling, she merely wished to remind me to make sure you have a great time tonight. You are our special guest.”

“Does that mean you will dance with me?” you ask, holding his hands in yours before you reach the hall.

“We shall see,” he brings your hands to his lips again, leading you toward the hall, bowing and nodding at the ladies and lords who take it upon themselves to greet you.

You come to a stop in front of the table, Rhaena coming to hug you and twirl you around, gasping at the sight of your beautiful gown, gasping even louder when she sees how your dress matches Aemond’s tunic.

A ghost of a smile finds its way on Aemond’s face as he watches you get flustered at your sister’s attention to details, but soon, his eye hardens when he finds his uncle glaring at the two of you. Tonight will change the course of so many lives.

He watches you laugh with your sisters, pointing at the empty chair next to you so he would sit close by all night. With one last glare at his uncle, he walks to his seat and pours wine into his cup, blushing a bit when he hears you laughing again. You are not even laughing at something he has said and he is the one who gets flushed.

He is knee-deep inside these new feelings but he welcomes the challenge with open arms. Or at least he tries to do so without Daemon being an obstacle to his plans.

He looks at you when Rhanea and Helaena pull you to the dancefloor for the new song, pairing up with different lords to dance with, but what catches his eye, isn’t who you are dancing with, but more than who Daemon is talking to. He recognizes the lord to be from the south, probably a Tyrell, and when his uncle and the lord look in your direction, he knows something is not right, an uneasy feeling settling deep in his stomach.

He watches the lord closely as he makes his way through the crowd to get to you, bowing and introducing himself before taking your hand to dance with you. He can see how uncomfortable he is making you, probably discussing his sick desire to have a wife and kids while he dances with a Targaryen-Valeryon goddess.

“Stop glaring and do something!” Baela slides into the seat next to him, hissing the words at him while she keeps her eyes fixed on you as well, “I don’t like you, I will never like you, but you make her happy. Do something before our father ruins her life because of Rhaenyra.” “I thought you liked your stepmother,” Aemond chooses to ignore most of the things she said.

“It’s Rhaenyra’s schemes, please, Aemond, my sister deserves to feel appreciated. I have never seen any lord take an interest in her the way you have. You are the only thing she could talk about in the last few days. I will beg you if I have to.” Aemond turns his head toward Baela, letting her words calm down the hesitancy he has toward courting you. There are far more handsome men than him in the court, yet, he is the one who is blessed to hold you and kiss you, to gaze into your eyes and see forever in them.

He hisses when he feels a sting in his skull, not now, no. The pain can’t start now. He gulps his wine before he nods at Bela and stands up to walk to the crowd in the middle of the hall, catching your eyes for a second before he has to bow and start the dance with a lady he does not care to engage in a conversation with.

He thinks about how much he has changed in a few days; there will always be a part of him who thinks he’s not worthy of your affection, that you can do better than him, but also the thought of you in another man’s arms sets his skin ablaze. He is torn between keeping you all to himself or letting you have a wonderful future with another guy who can stand by your side and make you proud, who is not maimed and scarred like him.

Luckily, everyone needs to change their partner and he reaches with his hand to grab yours and pull you to his side, grinning when he hears your delighted shriek. “My Prince Aemond,” you say, squeezing his hand while the two of you twirl around the room.

He doesn’t wish to say, but the tempo is too high for me, and it worries him that somehow he might make a fool of himself or you if he trips over someone’s shoe on his blindside.

“Lady Targaryen, you look like a Valyrian Goddess, my beloved.”

“Why thank you, my good prince. I have to say that this color truly brings out your beautiful eye,” you reply coyly, tipping your chin up while you bite your lip.

“You are playing with fire, darling.” he leans down to whisper in your ear, pressing a feather-like kiss on your earlobe without anyone noticing.

“I’m a Targaryen, Prince Aemond, fire is in my blood,”

“Is that so? Well, I must say—”

He doesn’t know what happens, or how it happens, but in a second he can’t see you when he twirls you around him, and suddenly, the weight of your waist isn’t in his hand anymore.

“Aemond!” you fall down by his feet, and he sees that his boots have caught the edge of your heels, making you twist your ankle in the wrong way and causing your fall.

What have I done?

I dropped her.

I did this.

What happened?

His eye has widened in fear, and he is frozen in place, hands shaking slightly as he feels the crowd around you look in your direction, staring and gaping at him before the hushed whispers start to fill the room.

“Aemond, look—”

He can’t look at you. He will never be able to live with himself for humiliating you in the way he did tonight.

Stupid, weak, useless good for nothing, Aemond. If another lord was dancing with her, he wouldn’t have dropped her. A prince but less worthy than a common whore.

With trembling lips, and a pain blooming in his eyesocket, he dashes out of the room, leaving you on the floor.

His vision is blurry, the pain is getting worse and the air is stuck in his lungs. He can’t breathe, no, he doesn’t deserve to breathe. How can he when all he wanted to do was to dance with you but ended up hurting you? How could he hurt you like this?

He skips the steps, running to his room while he groans in pain, the stinging is getting stronger, the agony in his nerves is spreading through his skull and it only gets worse when he opens the door to his chambers to find not only scented candles but the windows and the balcony door is open as well.

“You are dismissed!” he shouts at the guard before he slams the door shut, “Ah!” He tumbles down, gripping the nearest chair to keep himself on his feet at least before he falls on his knees, clawing at the eyepatch to pull it off as if it’s burning his skin.

The pain is like a dagger, stabbing him over and over again until even his knees don’t have the strength to keep him up. He falls on the floor, curling into a ball while the pain spreads through his face, and he finally breaks down, bursting into tears from agony and humiliation. If only he wasn’t in pain… if only his eye wasn’t cut out…

Aemond doesn’t hear when the door opens, nor he can see who the person is. Tears have flooded his vision, but as soon as he feels your soft hand on his arms, trying to help him sit up, he flinches, backing away from you while he gasps for air, feeling his tunic clinging to his sweaty body.

“Aemond, please let me—” “No, no, no, no…” he stands up hurriedly, walking to the balcony on unsteady legs to get some air in his lungs, only to be met by a freezing wind that makes the chronic pain in his eye even worse. He drops to his knees again, this time the sounds of his gasps and painful yelps are louder than before.

You rush to his side, kneeling in front of him to cup his cheeks, kissing his clammy forehead before you wipe his tears away gently. He lets you touch him this time, too exhausted to utter a word, to push you away even if he has to.

“It’s going to be okay, Aemond, let me help you,” You help him on his feet, making sure to have your arms wrapped tightly around him while he leans his weight on you, trusting you to take care of him, even though the voice in the back of his head is telling him to push you out of his room.

“Gently, my love, gently,” you help him lay down on the bed, pecking his cheek again, rising to get the smoke out of the room but his hands shot up and grabs your forearm tightly.

“Stay, please,” he whimpers, his beautiful eye tearing in pain.

“I will, my dearest, I just need to blow out the candles and close the windows, and I’ll be back in bed with you.” You reach and bring his hand to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss upon his knuckles before he lets you go.

He can’t see you clearly, but your shadow moves from side to side frantically, blowing the candles on the balcony so the smoke won’t get inside again, shutting the windows quickly so the cold wind doesn’t bother him anymore before you come to bed again.

You unlace your gown, taking it off so you can tend to him more easily, pulling at the few pins inside your head to let the strands fall freely around your shoulders. You climb onto the bed, a jar of his salve and ointment in hand with clean rags in your other as you sit comfortably next to him, helping him take off his tunic and pants.

Aemond lies on the pillow on your lap, sniffing as you look at his face; bare and raw of emotions with his sapphire glinting in the low lights of the room.

“My love, you need to help me pull the gem out,” you whisper, almost sound scared of him, or scared of what you might see.

“No, it is an unbecoming sight—”

“Nothing about you is unbecoming. You are the most beautiful man I have ever laid my eyes on, and for you and your suffering, I begged my grandma to allow me to study about your condition with the Maesters,” you lean to kiss the bridge of his nose, “the skin around your eyesocket is swollen, if we do not pull it out now, it shall make it more unbearable for you.”

He hesitates for a moment. While he would love to ask you about why you studied something so gruesome because of him, he can’t help but feel so wanted. The pain is getting worse, sure, he has to pull the gem out anyway but to hear you say how you have begged Rhaenys to let you partake in those classes, to maybe someday help him with his pain… that truly makes him feel fuzzy all over.

“Alright…” he whispers, gritting his teeth in pain as he reaches out with his fingers to grab the side of the gem, pulling it out slowly while he groans and the pain nearly knocks him out. “Shouldn’t we use something more—” “Take it out, take it out—I don’t care how!”

You nod, tears falling from your eyes as you watch him writhe in pain more as the two of you pull his sapphire out, leaving a heavily swollen and empty eyesocket on display. His hand falls limp on the bed while you drop the gem into a clean bowl before pouring some of the ointment on a rag, gently holding his face in one hand while the other daps slowly over the scar and his ripped eyelids, pressing a few kisses here and there to soothe his whimpering.

He clings to your arms and waist tightly, letting his tears fall freely while you soothe his pain away, falling into slumber easily beneath your gentle touch.

•••••••••••

He is running.

Where is he? Why is he running?

He looks around him, finding himself in the labyrinth he always sees in his dreams.

The hedges are covered in ivy, the walls have gotten taller and the paths are thinner.

What’s this smell?

He steps closer to the source of it, taking different routes until the smell gets worse and stronger. He knows where the center of the maze is, he has been here countless times.

He turns around, finding the space of the labyrinth of his dream, but he doesn’t expect to see you there, not while standing with your nightshift covered in maroon, hands dripping with thick droplets of blood as you look at him horrifyingly.

“Darling, are you alright?”

“Don’t- don’t come closer,” you say, taking a step away from him.

“I don’t understand, why—” “You did this to me!” screaming at him, your hands cover your heart, and he finally sees how your chest has been ripped open and blood gushes out of the wound.

“I was not here—”

“You did this to me! You hurt me, Aemond!”

“Aemond!”

“Aemond!”...

He jolts up, gasping for air, hands clutching the bedsheets as he experiences another nightmare. He looks at you, finding you awake and alarmed while you rub his back, eyes filled with worry and pain for him.

“You should leave,” his voice is barely above whispering, his nails digging into the palms of his hand while he blinks his tears away.

“Aemond—” “I will only hurt you, why don’t you understand?!” he asks, raising his voice a little.

He is torn between needing you to wishing you were gone; he can’t cope if he ever hurts you again.

“You have not hurt me, you won’t hurt me.” “I killed you in my dream! You fell in front of everyone and twisted your ankle because of me, I humiliated you! How can you say I won’t fucking hurt you? I have already done it.” He explains, but instead of pushing you away, he welcomes you when you pull him down into your embrace, holding his head tightly in your neck as he sobs uncontrollably.

“It’s not your fault, I should have been more careful. I won’t let you ruin yourself for something that was a mistake on my behalf.” you kiss the side of his face, rocking him from side to side while he calms down eventually.

“Don’t push me away, I love you, Aemond. Let me be here and help you carry this heavy pain with you.”

He doesn’t reply, but his arms tighten around you.

He looks at how you lay back on the pillows, gently pulling him in your arms until he is lying in your chest while you play with his hair.

“Sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

•••••••••••

He opens his eye slowly when he feels someone caressing his hair, pressing butterfly kisses all over his face. Smiling a little, he finds you admiring him in his sleep, taking notes of every line and deep of his skin.

“It’s very rude to stare,” he says, his voice thick and raspy from all the crying he did last night.

“Not when he is my lover,” you whisper back, nuzzling your nose against his, “you look like a fairy when you sleep.”

“No one has ever told me that. How do you come up with such unique ways to describe me?” He leans over, pressing a kiss on your shoulder while he waits for you to answer.

“You are a wonderful muse for poetry, I shall start writing about your hair and eye!”

He keeps his lips sealed to your skin, sucking and nibbling until he is satisfied with the marks he has left. His pupil is blown out with a newfound lust; how can he not desire you when you are lying in his arms with your wild white hair plastered over his pillows?

“You are staring,” he chuckles at how breathless you sound. He hasn’t even begun to do anything and he already has you melting under his touch.

“Can you blame me? I have the most exquisite lady of the realm in my bed.”

“What happened to the insecure boy I held last night?” You ask while leaning up towards him, pushing him down on his back so you can straddle his narrow hips.

“It’s still here with us in this room, but he has begun to heal. You have helped him when he had no one,” his palms rest on your thighs.

“I need you,” it comes more as a plea, but Aemond obliges and flips the two of you over, hiding his face in your neck to prep it with kisses while he whispers that he needs you too.

“I love you, darling,” he whispers, craning his neck to catch your lips in a kiss, moving them together with a rhythm that encourages him to take the next step.

His hand inches downward, pushing past the fabric of your underwear to find you already wet for him.

“I-I have already lost my maidenhand…”

“I don’t care, I have you now,”

He silences your whine with another deep kiss, his fingers circling your clit until you are squirming and bucking your hips into his palm, your arms pulling him in by the shoulders.

He breaks the kiss, watching you take a deep breath when he pushes one digit inside while he tugs at the front of your shift, pulling it down until your tits are on display. He covers your chest with marks and bruises the same time another finger enters you, making you gasp loudly in pleasure.

He stretches you on his fingers, thrusting them in and out slowly at first, but soon he is speeding up, his patience running thin as he scissors you open not roughly to make it hurt, but to make sure you are ready to take him.

“A-Aemond, please, need you closer,”

He nods because he too can feel the need to become one with you, to take you as his, or more so you take him as yours.

His breeches are thrown on the floor, followed by his undershirt immediately as he takes home between your spread legs, one hand holding him up while the other guides his throbbing cock to your entrance. You both gasp in union when his tip nudges past your muscles, pushing in slowly and gently until he is sheathed inside you completely.

You throw your head back, wrapping your legs around his waist while your nails dig into his naked chest as he lets you get adjusted to his size.

“Can I move?” He asks, leaning down over you as he cages you beneath him, both of his forearms holding himself up against the pillow under your head.

You nod, looking at him with pleading eyes, and he finally caves in and moves slowly; pulling his hips back a little before driving in.

The next minutes pass by him gently making love to you, circling his hips and kissing you, bringing you closer and closer to your highest point. You know you both are close when his groans and moans grow louder, and your voice matches his tone as he quickenes his pace, the loud sounds of skin slapping against each other echoing in the chambers of the prince.

You both finish together; you with a gasp of his name, and him with a loud groan of yours as he fills you and you gush around him. He trembles above you, whether it is for the climax he experiences or the overwhelming love he holds for you.

He watches your face twist in pleasure — the pleasure he is giving you — and he memorizes every sound, counting each lash that he can while he himself rides his high with you.

He drops face down on the bed next to you, both of you trying to catch your breath as you look at each other with a satisfied expression on your faces.

“They would ask about our whereabouts if we are late for breakfast.” You say, giggling when he groans in absolute disgust — he is not ready to leave this room and face the world again when he knows he can stay and take you again, thrive in your attention and love for all day.

“Must you ruin this moment for us? Now I can only think about how to face your father after what we did.”

“You should look him in the eye and ask for my hand,” you sit up, throwing the cover off of you before getting off the bed “and you shall do it with the braids I do for you,”

“You are impossible,” he says, but he knows that behind his words, there is no hidden intent, nothing but adoration and playfulness.

“Come, sit!” You pull him off the bed as well, leading him to his vanity before pushing him down on the chair, both of you stark naked as you brush his hair slowly.

He looks at himself in the mirror, and for the first time in years, his reflection doesn’t disgust him, it doesn’t scare him or make him self-conscious. He feels… beautiful, he feels worthy again of having this life, having you as his.

“Do you wish to know what I see when I look at you?” You ask him, letting his soft hair fall around his shoulders before you lean down, wrapping your arms around him, resting your chin on his shoulder.

He nods, hands coming to cover yours where they caress the skin above his heart.

“I see a broken man who needed to be saved. I see a boy, fierce and strong as he claims the largest dragon alive. I see my friend who danced with me in different gatherings, my beloved friend who built sandcastles with me and helped me with my Valyrian studies. I see my Aemond, finally freed from the labyrinth of his mind.”

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen angst #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen fluff #prince aemond #aemond x reader #rue:smut #rue:angst #rue:fluff

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princessbellecerise · 2 months ago

Text

Baby Blues

Summary ✩ After six months of being married, you and Cregan are still struggling to conceive, leading to you becoming insecure and slightly jealous in your marriage

Warnings ✩ Angst, jealousy, mentions of infertility and pregnancy, self doubt, insecurity, happy ending though

Notes ✩ This is based off of a request and I hope I did it justice. I did put a little twist on it just to make it a little extra angsty but enjoy!

Cregan pulled the covers back and grinned.

A little over a month had passed since your last moon blood, and now that a safe amount of time had gone by, he felt excitement fill him at the idea that you were finally with child.

The two of you had been trying ever since you got married six months ago, but it seemed that the Gods had not yet deemed you fit to be parents. It’s something that’s worried both you and Cregan, as it wasn’t like there was a lack of trying between the two of you, and the Maesters said that you both were healthy. Realistically, your belly should be swollen by now but it just hadn’t happened.

Now though, Cregan felt a sliver of hope rise in his chest. Beside him, you shifted and rolled over sleepily to see why your husband had taken the covers from you. You were cold, but once you saw what he was looking at you immediately warmed up.

“It still hasn’t come,” You realized, fighting a smile. Your heart beating a little faster as you saw the clean sheets.

“No. No it hasn’t,” Cregan, trying and failing to conceal his own grin, said. “It’s been next to two months now.”

“Which could mean nothing,” You chewed your lip, reminding him that sometimes a woman’s blood could be late. But Cregan chose to be optimistic.

“Or…”

You squealed as suddenly, your husband pulled you into his arms and peppered kisses all over your neck. Laughter filled your chambers as you tried to push him away, but Cregan held you firm, his hands gentle as they pressed against your belly. “Mayhaps my seed has finally taken.”

“Mhmm. Well, we’ll see about that,” You said cautiously, not wanting to get your hopes up until you knew for sure. More time would need to pass before you allowed yourself to truly believe, as the heartbreak of your moon blood simply being late would be devastating. You were already worried that something was wrong with your womb and the longer you went without getting pregnant, the more that worry grew.

Over the next few days, you held caution close to your chest as a way to shield yourself in case Cregan was wrong. In case this time was just false hope like all the others, but as the days went on and suddenly it became a month and two weeks without getting your moon blood, you caved.

You and Cregan couldn’t stop grinning the moment you finally revealed to the Maester what was happening. It was too early to be one hundred percent sure, but he assured you that it was a good sign and only time would tell. Despite this, Cregan insisted on celebrating the incident, claiming that there needed to be a feast held to honor the coming of a new heir. Your husband was so excited that you didn’t even have the heart to dissuade him, admittedly excited yourself.

As the Lady of the castle, you made the plans and collaborated with the Maester to send out invitations. And within two more weeks, all of the nearest houses in the North were gathered at Winterfell, happy and merry as they celebrated you and Cregan.

It was a lively feast, and definitely the most exciting event in the North for a while. Cregan had insisted on having the best ale present and the best food, as it was summer and their stores had extra to spare.

You had never seen your husband so alive; so filled with happiness and joy as he drank to his new heir. Of course, you were being moderate and only stuck to cider or water, but you didn’t mind. At least you’d be sober enough to remember this night, and the way that it filled you with such love to see everyone so happy.

To you, it felt like a huge weight had been lifted from your shoulder and the fear of disappointing Cregan and the North faded. You knew it was silly, as Cregan had reassured you many times that he’d still love you even if you couldn’t provide him with a child, but fulfilling your duty had been drilled into your head since you were born and now you could rest.

You were pregnant, hopefully, and your days of waking up and feeling like a failure were over. That night, you ate, you laughed, you toasted to your unborn babe and you held Cregan tight when later, he whispered to your non-existent baby bump.

“Helloooo thereeee. I’m…I’m your father,” He slurred while you laughed, unable to help yourself as you knew he was one hundred percent piss drunk.

“My love, I think we should be going to bed so you can sleep this off,” You told him, but Cregan waved you off and rested his head on your belly.

“Just…just a minute,” He told you, and he seemed to sober up a little as a small sigh left his lips. “I wanna…I wanna say a few words to our little wolf.”

He pressed a delicate kiss to the exposed skin and nuzzled your belly with his nose, pausing for a moment before continuing. “It took…it took a while for you to get here, didn’t it? Your mother and I…we were worried. I thought…I thought that maybe there was something wrong with me at first and that’s why you didn’t come, but I’m glad to know that me cock still works.”

“Cregan!” You were both amused and a little surprised to hear that it was him he blamed for such a wait, not you. You never realized that your husband felt responsible for not being able to conceive these past few months, and it both saddened your heart and made you feel less alone to know that he carried the same guilt on his shoulders.

“It was no one’s fault the babe took so long,” You reassured him gently, running a hand through his hair. Cregan sighed at your touch, leaning into your lap as he nodded.

“Aye. It just seems like our little wolf is stubborn is all,” He smiled.

He finished off his speech with a few more words of love to your belly, and the entire time you felt yourself smiling bigger and bigger. By the time Cregan had finished, finally stumbling into bed and grumbling about a headache, you were sure that your cheeks were going split from smiling so much. Words couldn’t describe how full your heart felt, how much you were overflowing from sheer happiness and joy. Everything you had ever dreamed of was coming true and it was all because of the little babe growing in your belly.

“Good night, my little moon,” You smiled as you placed a hand over it, almost as a way to protect them as you fell asleep. Sometime during the night, you felt Cregan’s large hand doing the same, and together your warm hands protected your little miracle.

—

The next morning, you woke up with the sun shining on your face. Yawning, you reached over to say good morning to Cregan, only to find the bed empty.

He must have gotten up early, you thought with a frown.

You thought about yesterday, about how carefree and happy your husband had been. He was so excited to know that he was getting another child, excited that little Rickon would have a younger sibling to protect. You were sad to think that he now had to focus on his duties again, but what could you do?

Duty never waits for anyone.

Trying to shake off your disappointment, you cradled your stomach and sat up in bed. After stretching and taking a small sip of water from the pitcher your maids had left you, you yawned again and threw the covers back.

Your eyes widened.

“Oh Gods. Oh no, no, no!”

You scrambled up in a panic as tiny dots of blood stained your sheets, your eyes wide and your stomach dropping to your feet. Horrified, you placed a shaking hand over your mouth as denial flooded your veins—but the proof was there plain as day.

“No. No, no, no! This can’t be happening,” You whimpered, falling to your knees as you touched the satin material.

How could this be possible? You hadn’t…you hadn’t bled for two months, and now all of a sudden your moon blood decided to show up? After everything…the feast, Cregan’s speech last night…

You shook your head as tears blurred your vision. Utter rage and devastation seemed to fill your heart as you sobbed, clutching your stomach as your whole body shook.

Both shame and embarrassment washed over you, knowing that the womb you cradled was empty. All those celebrations, all the toasts and the speeches that were given…it was for nothing.

You weren’t pregnant, and just like that you were back in the same position you were when you first arrived in Winterfell.

Scared. Heartbroken when your moon blood still came after the bedding. Terrified as the thought of being barren and unable to bare Cregan another child haunted you.

All of a sudden, those fears came running back to you and it made you want to throw up. It made you want to shout and scream, ask the Gods what they hated you so much as to allow this.

Why? Why have you all cursed me? Why won’t you let me bare my husband’s child? Am I not good enough? Am I just not meant to be a mother?

No, no. It couldn’t be true. Despite what the Gods thought, you refused to believe it. You didn’t want to believe it, not willing to accept that you had let Cregan down, again.

Gods, and he had been so excited to be a father again. You knew that he always wanted a big family, but sadly his first wife had passed away in childbirth. It had taken him two years to remarry, and now he was stuck with only one son and a second wife that was probably barren.

A cruel fate he had been dealt, really.

And now, as you stared at the droplets of blood staining the sheets, an ugly feeling crawled its way through your chest. Something that felt akin to jealousy, which you knew was ridiculous and borderline sinful.

It was an ugly, awful thing to envy a dead woman—and you swore to yourself that you never would. You knew how much Cregan loved you, and you were mature enough to know that one person could hold love in their heart for two people. Still though, you just couldn’t help yourself.

Arra might have died for it, but at least she gave him an heir. I cannot even offer him anything, You thought bitterly.

The realization just made you cry harder, wondering if when Cregan found out he’d lose his patience with you. You wondered if your husband would curse the Gods as you did; ask them why they’d taken his perfectly good wife away from him and cursed him with a barren one.

You knew that he wouldn’t, as deep down you knew your husband was not that kind of man. Grief however had skewed your mind, and it made you not think straight as you scrambled up.

Wiping your tears, you leaned over the bed and tore the sheets off with one pull. In a frenzy, and motivated by the desire to not let Cregan see them, you stuffed them deep within your closet and sobbed.

You don’t remember when you dressed yourself, or when you even left the room, really.

All you knew was that everything felt like a blur, the whole world passing you by as you aimlessly wandered through Winterfell.

You don’t remember what you were even looking for or why, but eventually you found yourself somewhere that surprised even you. In the hallway of an abandoned corridor, staring at the portrait of Cregan’s late wife.

You weren’t sure what possessed you to go there, or to even stay once you realized what it was. But something kept you rooted to your spot, and you found yourself entranced as you stared at the artwork.

Arra was beautiful, that was for sure. She had long dark hair, common amongst the Northerners, and big blue eyes that seemed to stare at you accusingly.

From what you’d heard from Cregan, she was his childhood sweetheart. Kind and generous, your husband had once reassured you that she’d love even you, when you were once worried that her ghost would somehow blame you for stealing her husband and child.

“Arra was a gentle soul,” Cregan explained, “And she’d love you for the simple fact that you make me happy, and that you are going to be a wonderful mother to her son and his siblings.”

Now, you wondered if that would still hold true. You had failed at the last part, and surely once Cregan found out, the happiness he once found with you would fade.

You wondered if then Arra would still be so accepting of you; a woman who had stolen her husband and her child and couldn’t even do anything to keep him happy.

It haunted you to think so. Sent a burning feeling through your chest. A feeling of failure. A feeling of jealousy, that this woman had given your husband everything you’d ever wanted to give him and more. A feeling of sadness when you realized that she had died for it, and now her place had been taken by someone as useless as you.

A few hours later, that’s where Cregan found you. Staring at the portrait of Arra Norrey, crying your eyes out over a dead woman, his late wife, and the babe that never even existed in your womb.

“Y/N?” Cregan approached you cautiously, alarm and panic in his eyes as he saw you sunken on the floor. You hadn’t know it yet, too caught up in your grief, but you’d been missing pretty much the entire day and no one had been able to find you since this morning.

The sun had long set, and just when Cregan felt like he was about to lose his mind, he remembered one last place he hadn’t checked. A place he used to visit all the time when he was a child, hiding and sneaking away with his now late wife. But he hadn’t had the heart to visit since she died, not until the possibility of you being in danger arose.

It was here that he found you, and immediately your husband rushed over to you, taking you into your arms and inspecting you for any signs of danger as you cried.

“What has happened? Are you hurt?”

“No.”

Somehow, you managed to force the word out, shaking your head as you tried to quiet yourself. You hadn’t meant for him to find you like this, honestly you hadn’t. You’d meant to go find him hours ago and tell him the news, but you were stuck to this spot and you couldn’t move. The entire day you’d been paralyzed with grief and it was obvious you weren’t okay even though you tried to convince him you were.

“I’m fine, Cregan. Really,” You told him, but of course he didn’t believe you.

He reached a hand out to touch your face, wiping your tears as he set his torch down. The new angle allowed you to see his face better, to see the worry and the panic and the grief.

You curled into yourself even more knowing that you had probably caused it, and knowing that you were about to add to it even more.

“Y/N, what happened?” Cregan demanded. He was perplexed. “Why have you been down here the entire day? It’s nearly midnight. We’ve been searching for you for hours. Everyone was worried, I was going out of my mind thinking that something awful had happened to you! And the babe—”

Cregan suddenly paused as you began to cry harder, his eyes wide as you cradled your empty womb. Something in his head seemed to click, an awful thought he’d never even considered before rendering him weak.

“Gods. Has something happened to the babe? Is that why you disappeared?” Cregan panicked, and you couldn’t stop the plethora of tears that slid down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry.” The dam broke, and you launched yourself into Cregan’s arms as his face turned to horror. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Cregan, I…there is no babe,” You explained to him, and you watched as his expression hardened.

“My love, what are you talking about? What has happened to our child?” He demanded to know. You held your head shamefully.

“The sheets, Cregan,” You told him softly.

He paused. “What?”

“I bled.” The confession left a bitter taste in your mouth, Cregan reeling back in shock. “My moon blood…it came this morning while you were out. I took the sheets…so you wouldn’t know and I…I wanted to tell you, I swear. But I just…I didn’t know how and I didn’t want you to be disappointed in me,” You whimpered. “I’m sorry.”

You looked away, afraid to see his face. Afraid to see the disappointment and the anger that was sure to come. Afraid to see the same accusing stare that Arra wore.

You averted your eyes, because you didn’t think you could bare watching the moment your husband realized that you were a failure. That it was you all along and not him that couldn’t conceive a child. It was your womb, your body that was preventing his happiness.

You didn’t think you could watch the moment all of it faded away.

“Y/N…”

You flinched as Cregan’s hand gently grabbed your face, making you look at him no matter how hard you tried not to. His rough, calloused fingers stroked your cheek, and he looked awfully gentle for a man that should’ve been angry beyond belief.

“My love, look at me. Look at me, please.”

You blinked, and all of sudden you were gazing into his eyes, one blue and one brown. Both of them looked soft and warm, Cregan sighing as he shook his head.

“You will never be a disappointment,” He said firmly. “Not to me. And I don’t want you to ever think such a thing. You are a good wife—”

“Who has failed you time and time again, Cregan,” You sniffled, “It has been six months, and I have yet to fall pregnant. You already have a son, so we both know it is me. I…I’m the one that keeps disappointing us. And I don’t know what to do anymore. I just…I just want to give you a child already. I want to be just as good as Arra was.”

Cregan had been stabbed before, cut from navel to collar and yet nothing in the world was as painful as watching you break down in his arms, desperate for the child you did not have.

It made him feel helpless to see you cry, and he hated that feeling. Hated that there was nothing he could do except for hold you, and offer you sweet words in hopes that it would soothe the ache.

“And you will. One day, you shall bare me another child, but if the Gods have decided that it won’t be today then so be it. We’ll try again and again until the time is right, and if that time never comes then I’ll still be with you every step of the way,” Cregan whispered.

He rested his forehead against yours and stared into your watery eyes. In the dying light of the torch, he could see the way they danced with a thousand emotions, each one more devastating to see than the last.

“You will be a mother one day my love, but please, do not compare yourself to her,” He continued. “Arra bore me a son, yes, but she gave her life for it. I would rather give Winterfell to my uncle Bennard than to see you perish for a child as well. I cannot…I cannot bare losing you too. Do you understand?”

You could hear the pain in Cregan’s voice, the unspoken truth that he’d rather you never be a mother than to have you leave him as well. It made your heart ache at the thought of never having your own child to share, flesh and blood and bones made from your love.

It would haunt you to the end of your days, but dying and leaving your husband alone in this world would destroy you even more.

You nodded. “I understand,” You told Cregan softly.

The warm fire light died down as you held one another in that corridor.

Nevermind that half the castle was still looking for you; in that moment, you only wanted your husband, his presence the only thing that could soothe the aches.

As Cregan’s strong arms and soft words comforted you, your eyes turned to look at the portrait of Arra. You wondered, if in her final moments she felt the same comforts as you did—content knowing that no matter what happened, she’d have a husband who would be there for her until the very end.

You hoped that she had.

—

In the morning, Cregan declined seeing off his most loyal bannermen, keeping his promise of being by your side whilst you visited the Maester.

You were shaking, undeniably terrified for what he was going to say, but you kept your head high and held onto Cregan’s hand the entire time he examined you.

You told him of your bleeding last morning, and how it had seemingly stopped today. You confessed that you hadn’t been feeling the usual symptoms of morning sickness or fatigue, but your breasts were sore and your appetite seemed to have increased.

Your body was an endless maze of confusion and it put you through emotions you weren’t even capable of understanding. You didn’t see how the Maester could either, really, but you supposed that he was used to these kinds of things more than you were.

After you had answered all of his questions, you braced yourself, squeezing Cregan’s hand as you prepared for the Maester to tell you what he thought.

And to your utter surprise, he merely smiled.

“Bleeding from the womb for a day or two is rare after conception, but possible. The fact that it’s gone away is a good sign, My Lady,” He reassured you.

You felt Cregan gripping your hand tighter as a flurry of emotions filled your body. First, you were shocked. Then you were relieved. And slowly, the grief that had been eating away at your heart faded, and you felt the tiniest bit of something else bleed through.

Hope.

“You mean…?”

You didn’t want to say it out loud, for fear of maybe being wrong, but the Maester seemed to catch on and nodded his head.

“Yes. Gods willing, there should be a new child of Winterfell in about seven months,” He confirmed. And then he added, “Congratulations, My Lady. My Lord.”

He bowed to you and Cregan before leaving the room, also sensing that the two of you might like some privacy.

And he was right.

As soon as the door shut, Cregan pulled you into his arms and let out a shaky breath. You didn’t even have to see his face to know that your husband was smiling, and when you hugged him against you—hard—you could feel warm tears wetting your neck.

“D’you hear that? We’re having a baby,” You laughed in disbelief while Cregan chuckled, sniffling as he kissed alongside your jaw.

“I never doubted that we would,” He said honestly, and all you could do was hold him tighter, your own tears slipping down your cheeks.

“No. No you didn’t.”

#house of the dragon #hotd x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark #cregan x reader

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theeditorreads · 6 months ago

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Cold Fury by Toni Anderson - A Review

Cold Fury is FBI Hostage Rescue Team Operator Aaron Nash’s story, whose team is assigned to protect Assistant District Attorney Hope Harper from an escaped serial killer.

My Rating: 5/5 Genre: Romantic Suspense Pages: 438 (Kindle) Publisher: Toni Anderson Inc. Date of Publication: 13 May 2024

Series: Cold Justice® – Most Wanted #4

#advance readers copy #book review #cold fury #cold justice #cold justice most wanted #cold justice series #contemporary romance #romantic reads #romantic suspense #the editor reads #toni anderson #toni anderson cold crew

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luxaofhesperides · 4 months ago

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the beginning - danny

The Lazarus Pit brings Danny back.

The child who went into them, however, is gone forever.

Danyal al Ghul is the soul who should reside in this body. Danyal has a life still to live and Danny died ages ago, old and surrounded by loved ones, ready to spend the rest of his forever in the Infinite Realms.

Something's gone terrible wrong, he thinks rather wryly, squinting through the cold green water that surrounds him. An ache echoes through his body and he brings a hand—small, a child's hand that shouldn't belong to him— to his stomach, where he can feel a large wound slowly pull itself together.

Did I get stabbed?

He means to continue the thought, but a sharp pain hits his head, making him curl up. He gasps and air bursts from his lungs, water rushing to fill in the empty space. Danny chokes, panicking, as memories slide into place, the lives of Danyal al Ghul and Danny Fenton fighting for dominance in his head. His lungs burn, throat working futilely to push water out, but there's nothing to be done.

Danny is a child again, and just like last time, he dies young.

1. So.

Assassins.

Danny honestly can't tell if this is a step up or a step down from mad scientist parents. On the one hand: he knows they loved him, as clumsy as it was, even though they loved their work more. On the other hand: assassin cult sounds like something out of a fairy tale, and while cool, is definitely not safe for kids.

And Danny, somehow, is a child again.

This really wasn't what he expected when he woke up on the sandy bottom of the pit. He's in ghost form, which is an unpleasant shock, but at least its familiar.

He is also, if his memory as Danyal serves him correctly, nine years old.

Kinda sucks that he died so young this time round. Didn't even make it to the double digits before he was taken out of the running.

He can't remember what it was like being so small in his last life. He can't imagine how anyone would look at a child and run them through with a sword. It's a cruel world he's woken up in. It's made worse by the fact that he's alone.

At least being down here without needing to breathe is giving him valuable time to think.

Danny has lived a full life already. He didn't really need or want another one, content to be a full ghost in the Infinite Realms. But going back isn't really an option, now that he's in a new body. The kid he could have been deserves to live fully, and the least Danny can do is live that life for them.

It'll be hard, but Danny's sure he can manage a decent life for himself.

Being presumed dead will make his escape from the assassins easier, though he'll miss getting the chance to meet his new mother; assassin as she is, Danyal knows her not by her blades but by her soft lullabies and jasmine-scented hair. The loss of her child must be hurting her deeply, but it's necessary. If Danny wants any semblance of a normal life, he has to leave her behind.

Besides, he's seen enough death. He doesn't want to ever be the cause of it.

So, he needs a plan for this new life.

Step one: get out of dodge.

The rest he'll figure out on the way.

Turns out assassins weren't the most shocking thing in this new life.

No, that honor goes to superheroes.

Genuine, honest to God superheroes! With powers and everything!

To think that Danny once called himself a superhero. Ha! As if! He's nothing compared to the likes of Superman or the Flash or even Green Lantern. They're in another league. Literally. They're part of the Justice League, which has a whole slew of other heroes, and Danny is possibly their biggest fan.

Not like that's weird; most people in this world are huge fans of superheroes. Makes sense, since they're the ones who rely on their protection the most.

It does suck to know that his background belongs to that of a villain. Assassins aren't known for saving people, after all.

Part of him contemplates becoming a hero again, taking up the role of Phantom and joining the ranks of Superman. But he's had many years to come to terms with the loss of his teenage years and the bitterness that came with it. That experience, that life once lived, helps him decide each time that being a civilian is the gift this life owes him.

At thirteen, Danny lives in a foster home with six other kids. He's the oldest and has his hands full taking care of everyone else while their foster parents work three jobs between them to keep them all afloat.

When his younger siblings play superheroes, he gladly takes the role of the villain, swooping in with a blanket to kidnap away an innocent bystander that has to be rescued. He falls over dramatically at the end of each fight and praises his siblings' strength and teamwork, making them puff up with pride.

It's all fun and games so long as it only stays fun and games.

Superpowers are cool and all, but his came at the cost of his life, his health, his future. He knows, better than anyone, the price of being a hero. He knows that even Superman carries heavy losses on his shoulders, struggles under burdens no one can see.

He's lucky that the small town he ended up in—Luray, Virginia—has no heroes or villains. Too small a place to be on anyone's radar, apparently.

His classmates often complain about how they wish they could live in a big city where there's more to do, more to see, superheroes flying through the streets to protect them.

Danny is happy where he is. It's quiet, and small, and nothing like what he's used to, but it's safe.

That's all he really wants.

Here's something that stays the same no matter what world he's in: Danny is a magnet for trouble.

If the trouble stopped at bullies, everything would have been fine. Danny could handle Dash, and he could handle Justin just as easily.

But the universe loves to escalate with Danny, specifically, which is why Danny had to reveal his powers when some villain-wannabe school shooter attacked his high school.

And to think he felt bad for Jackson when he didn't make it onto the track team.

Luray does not have a meta population. They're too small to have much of a population at all, and much of it is white which made him, half-Iranian, stand out even before he threw out a barrier of ice to protect his classmates a second before the gunfire began.

"Danny?!" his seatmate, Clarrissa, cries out in alarm.

"Everyone get out the window and run for it!" he orders, "I hold him back as much as I can!"

"You can't stay here!"

"Don't worry," Danny says, offering her a tight smile. "He couldn't kill me even if he tried. Now go!"

His classmates hadn't wasted any more time, sending him shocked looks as they escaped the classroom. A glimpse of his reflection in the window revealed glowing green eyes and blue mist wafting out of his mouth.

Looks like his time in Luray is up. He hopes his foster siblings won't be too mad at him for running away.

The gunfire stops, and Danny takes his chance to leap through his ice, intangible, and tackle Jackson, easily knocking the gun away from him.

"Monster!" Jackson spits at him, and Danny laughs.

"Bold of you to say that. I'm not to one trying to kill people."

He doesn't want to hear anything else that comes out of Jackson's mouth, so he knocks the guy out with a solid hit to a pressure point on his neck. Hopefully that'll keep him down long enough for the cops to get him.

Danny stands and means to leave, but something hits the back of his head hard and he's out before he realizes what's happened.

When he wakes up, he's strapped down to a table in what is undeniably a lab, and sighs.

At least he made it to sixteen before he went into another lab. Maybe in his next life he might even get all the way up to twenty before he's pulled back down here.

4. Though he has all his powers and a ghost form, that doesn't mean he is a ghost in this life.

No, he's fully a meta, which means meta-suppressing cuffs work on him.

It's not exactly a discovery he was hoping to have while locked up in a lab, but it's what he's got, so he has to roll with it. The cuffs are heavy on his wrists and around his throat, keeping him from escaping as a group of people in masks and lab coats bustle around, ignoring him.

His head is still foggy, though likely more from the drugs than the hit he took to his head.

He doesn't bothering talking to any of them; they don't see him as human, and Danny's dealt with enough of that in his past life.

Mad scientists love to talk though, so he still hears the gist of their plans: recreating the meta gene for normal people, making a profit from selling powers, getting rich and famous from their accomplishments. They had been using Jackson to get corpses for human testing, but they got Danny instead — someone they can harvest bio material for, a much better find than a couple dead kids.

If he had the energy to rage, Danny would have killed everyone in the room already. They planned to kill his classmates just for test subjects.

He doesn't want to be an assassin, but he'd gladly lean into those old lessons to make sure they never hurt anyone again.

But the cuffs and drugs do a good job of keeping him docile, barely able to think, as they transport him around to different locations and cut him open.

He's not sure how long it's been when they ease up on the drugs a bit. It still takes time for his body to work through everything, and he comes too with a throat that's dry and a stomach that hasn't had anything in it for quite some time.

The first thing Danny does when they start asking him questions is throw up on them.

If they wanted cooperation, they should have treated him better. This is fully on them.

It makes for a convincing argument for food and water and a bathroom break, at least, so he gets what he demands and takes care of his human body under the cold gazes of three scientists.

"You guys suck," he says conversationally. "Keeping test subjects alive is like basic knowledge. No wonder y'all suck at your jobs."

"Your comments aren't needed," one of the scientists says primly. "Get up. We need to study how using your powers affects your body."

They hook a bunch of different things onto him, then lock him in a glass cage and use the cuff around his throat to send jolts of electricity through him when he doesn't do anything. He throws a chunk of ice at them, watching as it breaks apart into small pieces when it hits the glass. The scientists scribble in their notepads, and when they look at him again, he flips them off.

He gets shocked again, but it's worth it.

The process repeats for another few hours, then he's pulled out of the cage, gets an IV stuck in his arm, and drops off into drugged oblivion before he has time to start throwing hands.

It must have been months. Danny's not sure; it's hard to keep track of time when locked in isolation.

He knows he's fed at least once a day. He's been getting a tray of bland food at random times, but he's counted over 50 trays sliding through the little slot on the bottom of his cell door.

Turns out insulting scientists and their procedures is a bad idea, especially when he has the language to really bruise their egos.

So.

Isolation sucks.

But at least they don't drug him anymore!

The cuffs do their job of keeping him in place, and if he didn't have memories of another life to keep him company, he definitely would have lost his mind long ago.

There's other people in here, other metas. He's heard them screaming and begging for mercy. He's heard them go chillingly quiet. He wonders why there are so many superheroes in this world when not a single one has come to save them.

Surely at least one would notice metas disappearing and would investigate?

But no.

No one ever comes to save them.

So Danny needs to figure out a way past the cuffs, and then he can be Phantom again long enough to free the other metas and make every scientist involve pay for their crimes.

He just needs to wait.

He just needs—

When Danny wakes up, the alarms are ringing. It makes his head pound, throbbing with each piercing sound.

He stumbles up, using the wall to keep his balance, and freezes when he sees that the door to his cell is open.

…Huh.

The hallway is bathed in red light when he steps out. No one's around. He wanders around the facility, searching for answers and only finds more questions.

There are other cells, also empty. Certain rooms have blood splattered across the walls and the floor, but no bodies. Labs are destroyed, broken glass on the floor. But every room is empty.

He wanders until he finds what must be a security room. There's a strange device dangling off a keychain on a rack, and Danny eyes it curiously. He runs his fingers around the cuff on his throat, feels the little depression where the collar comes together, and takes the rounded device. If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work.

But if it does work…

The cuff pops open easily, as if it hasn't been his greatest foe these past few months.

All at once, his strength returns to him. He has forgotten what it was like to breathe easily, to feel his powers come to his call so easily, to be reassured that he can take care of himself.

It's almost like coming back to life.

He transforms, settling back into his ghost form with relief, and flies through the facility in search of any other metas that may need help. He finds no one, but he does catch a glimpse of the outside.

The sky is so blue it almost hurts to look at. Part of the facility has been blown apart; rubble surrounds the place and the surrounding forest has been flattened. It looks as though a fight has moved through the area.

Maybe a superhero did come to save them? Rude of them to leave only Danny, though.

He continues his search, poking his head into different rooms and hallways. He finds a staircase going down and follows it into the basement. More labs greet him, and the glow of computers and strange vials of liquid leave him unsettled.

There's a green glow coming around the corner than reminds him of the Lazarus Pit he flew out of, once upon a time many years ago, and that's what draws him forward.

Tucked away in that familiar glow is a small body, floating in a tube of liquid. There's an oxygen mask attached to her face, but that doesn't stop Danny from recognizing her.

"Ellie?"

Just like in one life, Danny is cloned. The difference is that this time, there's no reason for it, no insane godfather trying to recreate a version of him that will choose him.

No, this time it's from a group of scientists who should have known better, who decided to mess around with his genes, and brought his once little sister now daughter into such a cruel, dangerous world.

Danny barely remembers breaking the glass to get her out of there. He doesn't know where he found the coat to bundle her up in, flying out of the facility as fast as he could. He feels sick, knowing it's his fault that she's here now, forced into a painful, terrifying existence because he wasn't strong enough to save himself.

He's a runaway meta victim of mad science. He can't take care of her.

"I'm sorry, Ellie," he whispers to her, pressing a kiss against her head. "I'm so sorry."

She small in his arms. She barely weighs anything.

Danny blinks back tears and tries to find some place he can stop and rest, somewhere safe he can gather his thoughts and figure out his next steps.

This isn't like when he first woke up in this world, with both sets of memories.

This is Ellie.

She deserves more than just a wish and a half-baked plan for a better life.

She deserves a family that wants her, that can care for her, that can protect her. She deserves to grow up normally and not worry about destabalizing or being a replacement for him or being hunted down.

She deserves one life to be a kid and grow up safe and be whoever she wants to be.

Danny will never be able to give her that.

But maybe he can give her to someone who can.

Danyal grew up with an assassin mother and a cruel grandfather who expected far too much from a child. He was taught to kill and be more weapon than child. He was taught the world was something for him to take, to protect, to water with blood.

Danyal was meant to be the next Demon Head, and the next Bat.

Danny knows he can't go to his mother. If they're both lucky, he will never have to see her again. Knowing his luck, he's already planning explanations for why he never went back to her.

Danny's father, on the other hand…

It didn't take much to put the pieces together. The notorious Bat is Batman, Gotham's vigilante and one of the founders of the Justice League. While a child would have been left confused by the many comments his mother made about his father, it was simple enough for Danny to line them up with what he learned about the heroes of this world and realize, oh, that's my dad.

It takes a few weeks of research, using public libraries with Ellie tucked securely in a wrap to his chest, but he's able to learn more about Batman.

The most important thing being that he has kids.

Of course, none of this is officially acknowledged, but everyone knows that the Robins are his kids. Current Robin, especially, likes to remind people that he's 'the son of Batman'.

Okay. Cool.

Danny has siblings.

Awesome.

He's… not looking forward to those conversations.

At least it means more people to look after Ellie. Assuming they take her in, which Danny's really hoping for.

But it's the best he can do, so Danny sets course for Gotham and hopes that just this once, everything will work out.

Meeting the Bats of Gotham is a lot harder than he expected.

A week in the city and he's barely caught more than a glimpse of them. He can't dedicate a lot of time to tracking them down either, needing to break into grocery stores to get food for him and Ellie.

She's so quiet as a baby, and it terrifies him. She's only cried twice the entire time he's had her, and Danny spends every day begging her to hold on.

Time during the day is spent catching naps and researching common vigilante spotting areas in Gotham. He's got a map of Gotham taken from a library and has been steadily marking it up, putting stars in the best places to find a Bat. There are places all over the city, and Danny has no idea how to know which ones are the best.

The only thing he can do is wait at a different rooftop each night, clinging to Ellie, wondering if this is the last night he has with her.

On the ninth night, someone finally arrives.

"Step away from the edge," a voice demands.

Danny turns to see Robin approaching, hands held out as if to catch him. He's bigger than Danny was expecting. Which makes sense; most of the stories Danny got online are from when Robin was a kid, and it's been a few years since then. He must be a teenager now. Older, but still young.

"Robin," he manages to say, his throat tightening. It feels almost like there's a noose around it. It feels like that meta-suppressing cuff has clicked back into place, leaving him helpless.

"Step away from the edge," Robin repeats. "There is no need for this to be your last resort."

"But it is," Danny whispers.

Robin darts forward and wraps a hand around Danny's wrist, yanking him towards the center of the roof. "Why on Earth would you come up here? Surely you must have known that someone would stop you."

"Batman," he gets out. "I need to speak to Batman."

"What for?"

"I'm… I was told, once, that I'm his son."

10. Robin stares at him for a long moment.

Then he takes off his mask.

Danny knows those eyes: he sees them every time he looks in a mirror.

"Danyal," Robin breathes. "You died before I was born."

"I did. Are you…?"

"Mother told me about you."

So he has a little brother. If only he hadn't left first chance he got, he could have known his little brother, gotten away from that place before it hurt him too. Danny has made many mistakes since he arrived in this world. Missing a little brother is perhaps the worst of them.

"Mother…" Danny repeats. "She put me in the Lazarus Pit. I remember that. She didn't want me to die."

"I was born to replace you."

Just like Ellie.

So many mistakes repeating. He's never felt like more of a failure.

"Batman. Our father. He treats you well? You are safe with him?"

Robins brows furrow, but he nods, which is enough for Danny. "Yes. Of course. Isn't that why you're here now?"

"I'm not asking for me." Danny carefully, gently, unwraps Ellie. "I'm asking for her. Please, take care of her. She deserves more than I can give her. Ellie… she'd be your niece."

Robin's eyes are wide. He's frozen until Danny pushes Ellie against his chest, forcing him to lift his arms to hold her.

"Wait, what about—?"

When Robin looks up, Danny's already gone.

It's for the best.

(masterpost for all parts)

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #demon brothers #dcxdp fic #the harmless series #gonna make that a full series. all posts will be part of that. heres the beginning of it all!!#reincarnation + demon brothers + baby ellie #tw human experimentation #dw there will be more #i'll have a full masterpost to add to the end of each post once i write and post the next part #which will be damian's pov and the aftermath of danny revealing himself and leaving ellie #my writing

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luludeluluramblings · 4 months ago

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Smalltown!Neglected!Meta!Reader x Yandere!Batfam ☁️ Part One

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

Part Two ☁️ Part Three ☁️ Part Four ☁️ Part Five ☁️ Part Six ☁️ Part Seven ☁️ Part Eight

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

A/N: I’ve been hyper fixated on Batfam and DC in general for the past two months, and this is what my brain has been cooking. This is based on an fem!OC I made, but I converted it to GN!Reader. Or attempted to. Might write an official one with the oc. I don’t know. I’m new at this stuff and doing this on mobile to boot.

Warning(s): Yandere themes, Obsessive behavior

Reader grows up happy, healthy, a safe away from Gotham

Momma and Daddy (step-father) adore their darling reader

Daddy is kind and understanding; gives good advice, encourages reader, comforts reader after nasty break ups

Momma is sassy and a bit possessive of her baby reader

Momma never tells reader anything about their biological father (He was a big city playboy that missed the court date for custody is all she said)

Reader has a much younger half-brother from Momma and Daddy, who reader also adores

Little Brother’s are annoying, but you have so many interest in common

Suddenly Momma and Daddy are dead; (tragic accident or murdered)

Reader’s Bio Father, Bruce Wayne is called and flies into town via Private Jet and whisk you off to Gotham

Bruce can’t get custody over half-brother due to Reader’s step-grandparents fighting him.

(They tried to keep Reader too, but blood is thicker than water in the eyes of the court. And, Bruce has enough money to make that water run dry)

Bruce isn’t exactly like Momma described, he’s distant and a bit cold with reader. (Like he doesn’t know what to do.)

Bruce gets upset when Reader talks about missing Momma and Daddy, especially when Reader talks about Daddy.

Bruce doesn’t introduce Reader to the family right away.

Reader doesn’t see anyone, but Bruce and Alfred for the first week at the manor.

Bruce avoids reader, but gets upset when Reader ignores him

Reader starts researching their new family. Everything they can find in the media, even the company.

(Family Buisness funds the Justice League? Gotham gains a new Vigilante almost every time Bruce gains a new kid? Jason Todd’s death and reappearance. Suspicious…)

Reader finally meets the others.

First up Cassandra.

Quite, but watches reader like she knows all of reader’s secrets. (That’s terrifying.)

Reader’s instincts scream that she’s dangerous (Reader trusts those instincts.)

Reader is still nice, they get along. Cass rather be alone, but it’s cool. They’re cool.

Second up is Duke.

Duke is great. Official bro. Passes all the vibe checks. (Most normal one in this house.)

Reader’s meta abilities go haywire around him, so Reader needs to be careful. (Reader’s not sharing that secret yet. Not till they share what Reader suspects is their secret)

Third, Dick and Barbara.

Dick is a whirlwind, coddling and pitying, treating reader like a sweet helpless child then leaving. (He’s a busy popular man)

Barbara is polite, but a stranger.

Reader tries to be friendly, but can’t get past the stranger stage.

Fourth Stephanie.

Stephanie politely ignores reader, but reader genuinely wants to hang out. (Similar interest, close in age. Please, can we be friends? ……….)

Reader says they’ll keep trying (It happens… eventually….)

Fifth, Tim.

Tim just brushes Reader off with a blank look and disappears.

Reader can never find Tim. (Always in the cave, at work, on patrol. He’s a busy busy busy sleepy man that avoids even the mention of Reader)

(Stephanie hangs out with Tim though, but they still ignore reader. It’s fine. Reader is fine. It doesn’t hurt.)

Sixth is Jason.

Jason is mean.

Calls reader spoiled, says reader a an ignorant privileged princess, Daddy’s pet, a brat, etc.

But, then leaves when reader starts to snap back.

(He looks like he’s struggling not to strangle reader almost every time reader sees him.)

Seventh is the youngest and reader’s half brother.

Reader is excited to meet him, reader already has a younger half-brother. Having two sounds even better!

Damian is cruel

It breaks reader’s heart.

Damian either ignores reader, or mocks reader viscously. He’ll push and shove and throw things at reader. (Won’t draw a weaponed though, he’s past that.)

He brushes off all of Reader’s attempts at sibling bonding.

All this goes on for a few months.

Reader tries so hard to get close to everyone, but they’re either avoid her, ignore her, are cruel, or they just don’t have the time.

Reader’s life in Gotham is… different.

Reader’s a commodity, and, surprisingly enough, most people like Reader

School Friendships form, which reader worries are because they’re a Wayne child

(Which is true, but not in the way Reader thinks; hint: it involves other types of night avians)

Teacher’s appreciate a humble Wayne (Damian goes to the same school, Reader is a relief to teach)

Reader is quite talented, not a prodigy, not extraordinary. Just extremely approachable.

But, like all good things there is a downside.

Reader wants to spend time with their new friends.

They’re invited to Galas, lunches, brunches, vacations, shopping, etc.

And Reader WANTS to go

But, Bruce won’t let them

It’s not safe

(Which Reader understands, that’s why they never really explore Gotham, but still brunch couldn’t hurt, right?)

So Reader has no one to lean on or connect with. It’s isolating.

Instead Reader spends hours talking on the phone to their old friends and family back in their small town.

There’s a silver lining though: Things are going to get better before they get worse

So much worse

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sandythereadingcafe · 1 year ago

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REVIEW TOUR

COLD SNAP (Cold Justice: Most Wanted 3) by Toni Anderson-Author Page at The Reading Cafe:

'The premise is intriguing, captivating and twisted;'

Give Me Books

#books #reviews #book tours #Cold Snap #Cold Justice: Most Wanted #Toni Anderson #The Reading Cafe

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alltheirdamn · 5 months ago

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Lilies | dom!joel x sub!f!reader

Song Inspo: Lilies by Ethel Cain

Summary: Joel gives you everything, but you’re beginning to crave more. Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 5.5k (sorry lol) Warnings: dom/sub dynamic, a teeny tiny bit of Stockholm syndrome, lingerie!kink, reader has long enough hair to braid, brat taming, jealousy, angst, names (little flower, sir, whore, slut), degrading!kink, anal play, anal sex, orgasm denial, oral (m!receiving), throat fucking, ball-sucking/worship, rough sex, creampie, slapping, spanking, aftercare, joel is kinda a meany but also kinda sweet A/N: this just kind of tumbled out of me and yeah… here we are lol very far out of my element with this dynamic, so hopefully i did it justice. (i am very horny for dom!joel right now, please don’t perceive me)

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

The rules were simple:

You were to be at Joel’s home at exactly four pm every Friday and stay with him until Sunday evening

Your hair must be in a braid at all times

You could only wear lingerie (selected and purchased by Joel)

That was your routine.

You had been Joel’s submissive for half a year, and nothing had changed. You submitted to everything he asked without question. Yes, there were safe words in place and long conversations about wants and needs, but none of that mattered to you. All that mattered was Joel’s unwavering attention every weekend.

As time passed, though, you started wanting more. Three days weren’t enough for you. The rules weren’t enough. You wanted all of Joel. Not just his commands. Not just his cock. You wanted him to be yours in every way.

Nothing within Joel’s rules explicitly stated you could only see one another. As far as you were concerned, he only tended to one submissive at a time, and you had been with him the longest. Pride swelled inside you when you thought of that; Joel kept you because he wanted you. He enjoyed the pleasure you brought him, and in return, he cared for you deeply. But you wanted to see how deeply he cared about you and if he was as committed to you as you were to him.

That's when you devised a meticulously thought-out plan to prove Joel’s possessiveness. The desperate need to make him realize there would be no one else to make him happy.

You clicked the door open at precisely four pm and entered Joel's home. He kept it spotless, an immaculate representation of his attention to detail. Nothing went unnoticed, and everything had its place and purpose. Within his home, you had your purpose as well.

Tip-toeing through his kitchen, you brushed your hand over the marble counter, the stone cold to touch as you walked into the living room. Floor-to-ceiling bay windows compromised the room's side wall, looking out onto the brick terrace. Joel’s view of the city was the best money could buy, and you spent most Saturday mornings curled up on the patio sofa, watching the sun rise over the skyline.

The plush, gray couch in the center of the living room faced a large flat screen, one rarely used when you stayed on the weekends. Joel insisted on being present with you, whether it was fucking you into oblivion inside his bedroom or dotting over you with aftercare and affection. The lines blurred between strict rules and faltering emotions. He wasn’t a man of many words, but the feelings expressed through actions were enough to make your heart grow fonder.

Joel was to arrive home in less than thirty minutes, giving you enough time to piece yourself together in the new lingerie he had purchased. Wandering into the bedroom, you looked over the sight of his king-sized bed, covered in a white down comforter and scattered with an array of luxury pillows. The sheets beneath the comforter were silky soft and cool to the touch, but the press of Joel’s body against yours during the night kept you wrapped in a blanket of warmth.

The master bath was beyond beautiful, with its white trimmed crowning and alabaster bathtub under the window. Two sinks were carved into a marble counter: one for Joel and one for you. Countless times before, Joel bent you over the counter, forcing you to watch him through the bathroom mirror as he ruined you from behind. You came to learn that was one of Joel’s favorite activities: making you watch him while he fucked you. You loved it, too.

You loved everything he did.

Setting your overnight bag on the counter, you laid out your lingerie piece by piece. The white lace bustier was practically see-through, with a detailed pattern that left little to the imagination. The only part of the top that wasn’t fully transparent was the fishbone wiring that traced the underside of the bust. The matching underwear was no better; your neatly trimmed sex would be fully seen under the lace that comprised the tiny bodice. In Joel’s words, he wanted you to look “angelic and ethereal.” Once again, the thrumming in your heart increased knowing he saw you as such. He worshiped you head to toe, and you were so eager to give him anything he wanted. Slipping the garment over your body, you worked on your hair, plaiting the strands into a perfect braid you had mastered over the last several months. You secured it with a silk bow—just as Joel had requested—and settled it between your shoulder blades. Admiring yourself, you smiled into the mirror. Joel would be pleased with you.

But first, you needed to do something.

Reaching into your purse for your cell phone, you adjusted the camera to capture your lace-clad body in a teasing portrait. The photo wasn’t for Joel. Scrolling through your phone, you found the contact of your latest man of interest—well, not a genuine interest, so perhaps, the latest victim? You were only using him as part of your plan, and you hoped it worked in your favor.

As your finger hovered over the send button, you heard the unmistakable sound of the front door lock sliding open. A thrill of anxiety rushed through your body; you would do this. Pressing send, you ran to the bedroom and placed your phone on the nightstand. The ringer was on, which Joel did not favor during your time with him.

His large frame shadowed the bedroom door as he stepped into the room. In all his glory, Joel Miller was yours for the next seventy-two hours. But if you had it your way, he’d be yours forever. Clad in his usual work attire, his broad shoulders and chest stretched out his business suit, the white button-down peeking out beneath the jacket. His thick thighs were covered in well-tailored trousers, and his shoes were pristine and polished as he liked. Gazing up, you drank in the neatly trimmed scruff along his jaw, the silver patches thickening as they neared his ears. The mustache over his upper lip was just as clean, the edges dipping close to the curve of his mouth—which was currently tipped up into a satisfied grin.

“Hello, little flower,” he greeted.

Little flower.

That had always been his preferred name for you. “You’re so delicate, like a little flower. I could marvel at your beauty but crush you in my hand in seconds.”

Such a sentiment shouldn’t ignite something so visceral inside you, but it sounded so sweet when it fell off his tongue in honey-drench syllables.

“Hello, sir,” you smiled, your body situated on the edge of the bed.

You watched as he shed his suit jacket, folding it carefully and draping it over the dresser. His eyes stayed trained on you, the rich brown of his irises boring into you with a softness so tender it toppled something inside your stomach. Working at the cuffs of his shirt, Joel rolled them in perfect sections until they hugged the thick muscles of his forearms just below his elbows.

“You look radiant in the new set,” he said, his eyes dragging over your body.

You preened at his compliment, a blush crawling over your chest and neck.

“Thank you, sir. I love anything you pick out for me.”

Joel cracked a wide grin, pleased with your response. He curled his pointer finger at you, beckoning you closer. You obeyed his command wordlessly, stepping into his warmth. Rough, calloused fingers trailed over your bare skin, trailing higher up your arm until his hand came to cup your cheek.

Your eyes fluttered shut as he rubbed a thumb over your cheekbone, the touch you craved when you weren’t in his presence. You craved tenderness at all hours of the day; you lay awake sometimes at night yearning for more. Always more.

You craned your neck to kiss his lips softly, gently. If you could choose how you’d die, it would always be in this moment, where the world dissolved around you, and it was just Joel’s body against yours.

The moment shattered away as your phone shrilled from the nightstand, the vibration rattling the wood. Joel broke from your lips, his eyes set ablaze and swimming in darkness. Disappointment washed over his features, the crease between his brow forming and his lips set in a thin line. Without a single word, he strode to the nightstand and stared at your phone screen, no doubt flooded with texts from the man you had sent the photos.

Your heart thudded in your ears, the sound pressurizing inside your head. On bated breath, you waited for him to say something.

“Kneel,” he ordered, his voice cold. He didn’t even glance at you as he said the word.

You did without hesitation, your knees dropping to the carpet floor without a sound. The tension in the room was palatable as Joel walked into your line of vision. He held the phone in front of your face, his fingers tight around the edges.

“Read.”

Your eyes scanned the words on the screen, a slew of text messages… each more vulgar than the last. You didn’t want to say them aloud.

“Read,” he repeated.

“I—I don’t want to, sir,” you whispered.

Joel’s body was foreboding, a shadow swallowing you whole as you sat perched on your knees before him. He could do anything he wanted to you, and the truth was that you’d let him. You’d let him do anything because you wanted it. You wanted him so desperately.

“I didn’t ask if you wanted to read it,” he said. “I am telling you to read it.”

You swallowed thickly, your voice barely above a whisper, as you began to read off the text thread.

Damn, I need to know what your pussy looks like.

Let’s meet up tomorrow.

Send another picture. I want to see your legs spread wider.

Bet you would let me cum inside you.

Line after line, word after word, you were embarrassed. Embarrassed and afraid, neither settled well inside your stomach as it churched together.

Tossing the phone to the ground, Joel crouched to meet you at eye level. It was the first time you felt terrified by the way he looked at you. Several times, he had been rough—almost always, as it was what he enjoyed—but there was always a glimmer of softness even when he hurt you.

“You did this for a reason.” Joel didn’t ask; he said it like a calculated realization.

You bowed your head, too ashamed to meet his eye. Oh, but he didn’t like that. Gripping your chin with merciless strength, Joel lifted your face to meet his. A breath apart, but so far away.

“Explain yourself, little flower. I’m growing rather impatient.”

“I wanted to see you jealous, sir,” you admonished. “I wanted to know what you would do.”

“Jealous,” he echoed, rolling his tongue over his teeth.

He ripped his hand from your face, letting your head fall between your shoulders. You started at the polished tips of his work shoes, the black leather shiny and without marks. No detail went unnoticed.

“Undo my belt,” he instructed, stretching himself back to his full height.

Straightening your spine, you reached up to his belt and began to unclasp the metal, holding it tight around his trousers. Joel continued to stare down at you unamused. You worked at pushing his pants down his thick thighs, shoving them far enough to reach his kneecaps.

“Take out my cock. Let’s see how well I’ve trained your throat.”

You hooked your thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, giving them a good tug until his thick cock sprung free. It bobbed against his stomach, the reddened tip weeping with precum. Your hand came up to grip the girthy base, but Joel tutted in protest.

“Hands behind your back, little flower.”

Clasping your hands at the base of your spine, you peered up at him with an eager expression. Joel arched a brow, waiting for you to comply and give him his request. Shuffling your knees forward, you dragged the tip of your tongue over the slit, lapping at the salty precum that dripped down. You peppered him with kitten kisses, your tongue tracing the veins on the underside of his cock. Joel rewarded you with a satisfied hum, bucking his hips forward until the head of his cock parted your lips wider.

Dropping your jaw open, you welcomed each girthy inch of his cock into your warm mouth, the faint smell of his body wash mingling with his musky scent as you took him deeper. The moment the head of his cock brushed the back of your throat, you sputtered softly and felt the tears begin to well in your eyes as you squeezed them shut.

Joel ripped himself from your mouth, his hand coming down to squish your cheeks together.

“Keep your eyes open.”

“Yes, sir,” you said sheepishly.

He released his grip on your face and adjusted himself back at your wet lips. Sucking in a deep breath, you wrapped your mouth around his cock once more. Joel jerked his hips forward, sending his cock to the back of your throat. You swallowed around him, keeping your tongue flat against the underside of his cock. Your nose brushed against the trimmed curls that framed his pubic bones, the hairs tickling your nose as he held you there.

“I’m going to count to ten, little flower. Be a good girl, and show me how well you can take it.”

You nodded, your mouth suctioning tighter around him. Joel’s eyes darkened, his lips parted as he readied himself to count.

“One,” he barked.

You blinked away the tears springing in the corner of your eyes. You could do this; you had done it before.

“Two.”

You unhinged your jaw, your senses invaded by his scent as you pressed further into his pubic hair. Somewhere between breaths, Joel counted three and four with a loud grunt, and you continued to focus on exhaling through your nose.

“Five,” he gritted.

The urge to gag around his cock grew harder to ignore, and the tears flowed freely down your cheeks. Your chin was coated in drool as you anticipated the next count, your eyes foggy as you stared up at him. Joel tilted his head, admiring how he stuffed every crevice of your mouth.

“Six.”

“Seven.”

More saliva pooled in your mouth, and you hollowed your cheeks to avoid sputtering around him. Joel’s lips curled into a devilish smirk, and he nudged his pelvis closer until your nose smashed into his skin. You coughed around his length, the corners of your mouth dripping saliva onto your neck and chest.

“Almost there, little flower. Doing so good for me,” he crooned.

Joel brushed a finger over your throat, tapping the bulge protruding against your aching flesh. Eight and nine were a blur, your eyes barely staying open. Every flutter of your lashes garnered a dissatisfied tut from Joel, his body tense and throbbing with anger.

“Ten,” he sighed.

You tore away, coughing violently as you sucked in jagged breaths. Twisting your hands behind you, you squeezed your eyes shut to push the remainder of the tears down your cheeks. Joel wrapped a large hand around the base of his cock, stroking himself slowly and lazily.

“Stick out your tongue,” he ordered.

The words he said were far and few, which terrified you. Deep within yourself, you knew you had enraged him with your little act. It garnered no affection as you hoped, but he still gave you the attention you yearned for. Good or bad, you would take it. You would take anything he gave you.

A trail of saliva, salty and thick, dripped from the point of your tongue as you did what he instructed. Joel rested the velvety skin of his balls against your mouth, the weight of them heavy on your tongue. You didn’t need his commands as you slipped one of his balls into your mouth. Above you, Joel shuddered and clenched his fists at his side. You worshiped each with equal measure, alternating between gentle caresses of your tongue and sloppy suctions of your mouth.

“That’s it, little flower. Just like that,” Joel cooed.

A desperate moan left your lips as you lapped up the salty wetness covering his silken sack, swallowing down the remnants of your drool. Joel pumped himself faster, the sound of his jagged breathing mixing with the lewd noises of your mouth. His release was nearing; you could sense it in the way his thick thighs flexed around your face.

“Please,” you whined, your words muffled into the hair around his balls.

Joel’s hand slowed around his length, his thumb brushing over the slit as more precum leaked out. Staring up at him helplessly, you waited for his release to paint your tongue. He gave you a stern look, nodding toward the bed.

“Hands and knees. Now.”

“But—,” you protested.

Joel smoothed his palm over your cheek before pulling back and delivering a sharp smack against your face. You jerked at the sting of his touch radiating through the layers of your skin. He undoubtedly left behind a reddened mark across your cheek and jaw.

“You’ve already angered me once,” he warned. “Get on the fucking bed.”

Your knees scuffed against the ground as you scrambled onto the bed, situating yourself in the position he commanded. The unmistakable sound of the leather unsheathing from his pants ignited a new wave of fear through your body. Joel discarded it beside your face before coasting a hand down the center of your spine.

“I’ll give you another chance to explain yourself,” Joel said.

The bed dipped under his weight as he pressed a knee into the comforter beside you. You glanced over your shoulder, watching through teary eyes as Joel quickly unbuttoned his shirt. Dark chest hair scattered over his broad chest, spattered lower until it tapered into a thick trail down his pelvis. A thin sheen of sweat glistened over his golden skin as he discarded his shirt carelessly onto the ground. Careless…it wasn’t something you were used to with Joel.

“I just wanted your attention,” you muttered, your head hanging between your shoulders.

Joel tugged your braid, forcing your neck to crane backward. Despite the harshness of his words, his touch, his demeanor… your body throbbed with an unavoidable need. It throbbed at the apex of your sex, the lace rubbing against the slick that pooled between your thighs. Joel paid no attention to the way your legs shifted side to side, his unwavering stare penetrating you.

“Do I not give you enough attention?” He questioned.

“You do, sir,” you nodded, the strain on your neck growing uncomfortable.

“Perhaps you don’t deserve attention at all,” he mused.

He released his grip on your hair, your head falling forward and hanging low between your shoulders. Joel moved behind your body, his thick fingers tearing apart the lace hugging your ass. You yelped at the sheer force of it, the chill of the room skating up your bare sex. Joel’s fingertips traced over the back of your thigh, lingering close to the outline of your weeping pussy. Just one touch. That’s all you wanted—just one.

His touch disappeared, leaving you whining and frustrated. Joel huffed a laugh before bringing two fingers to your mouth.

“Suck. Get them nice and wet for me.”

You obliged, rolling your tongue over the thick digits as they pressed down into your mouth. He pulled them away, a web of drool connecting from the tip of your tongue to the pads of his fingers. Joel knocked your legs open further, and you waited in anticipation for his fingers to give you what you needed. Except, he didn’t.

A gasp left your lips as he pushed the calloused skin of his fingertips against the tight ring of muscles above your slit. With one hand gripping your ass, Joel spread you wider, humming at the sight of you fully exposed.

“Maybe you don’t deserve the attention you want. You’ll take what I give you, and you’ll thank me.”

“Please,” you whined.

“No,” he growled. “Desperate little sluts don’t get what they want.”

Joel’s finger dipped into your clenching hole, prodding you open despite your whines of protest. It wasn’t the first time he used this way, but it felt different. It wasn’t kind. It wasn’t meant to be focused on your pleasure. He was determined to prove a point, and you would comply because you were so greedy for anything he could give. He pressed the second finger to your hole, stretching you wider as he pushed them to his second knuckle. Wider and wider, he stretched you, uncomfortable but not unwelcomed.

“I see how wet you are, little flower. I know how greedy this pussy can get, but you know what? You don’t deserve it. This pussy doesn’t deserve my attention at all.”

“Sir!” You cried.

“You’re going to take my cock in your ass like the pathetic whore you are,” he growled.

Joel curled his fingers inside you, slipping them deeper until they were fully seated inside you. If you felt full now, it would be nothing compared to the way his cock would split you open. The sheer thought of it sent a shockwave to your clit, the aching bud pulsating painfully. Joel laughed at the way you squirmed underneath him, rewarding your cries with a jarring smack against your ass. Fuck, it hurt.

Tearing his fingers from you, Joel disappeared from the bed and riffled through his nightstand drawer. You heard the familiar sound of the lube squirting into his hand and the rough breath of Joel as he realigned himself with your loosened hole. The initial intrusion of his cock sparred stars into your vision, the tip of his cock tearing you open. Even in his angered haze, Joel was slow—careful.

“Breathe, little flower,” he urged.

You barely managed a full gulp of air before Joel bottomed out entirely. A scream erupted from your lips as you adjusted to his size, each inch of his length stuffed inside your tightening hole. Your body flexed and tensed under Joel’s touch, one hand pressing into your lower back, the other looping a finger through the plaits in your hair. Beneath him, you were helpless, entirely at his mercy for whatever he wanted.

With a slow retraction of his hips, Joel snapped his hips forward hard enough to send your upper body into the comforter. The rugged momentum of his thrusts tore you apart; piece by piece, Joel diminished you into nothing but a hole for his use.

“Greedy fucking whore,” Joel grunted, each thrust weighted and heavy inside you. “How’s it feel, huh? You love being used like this?”

“I love it, sir,” you cried.

Joel pulled out to the tip, a heavy breath expelling from your mouth. He ripped into you again, resolving you into a heap of tears and shallow whimpers. His finger in your intertwined hair tightened, pulling your neck back until you had no choice but to connect with his piercing stare. With blown pupils and curled lips, Joel was the epitome of carnal rage. You did this. You spurred him into this embodiment of anger.

“Is this enough for you, little flower?” He demanded.

Arousal dripped between your legs, the snap of his balls against your clit radiating pleasure through your body. You writhed under his hold, a pleading cry leaving your mouth as you stared at him helplessly. Usually reserved and stoic, Joel’s emotions washed over his features, speaking louder than his words. You didn’t just anger him; you hurt him. You questioned his role as a dominant, which was an unspeakable thing to do.

“Answer me!” He raged.

“It’s enough!” You sobbed.

Joel fucked you into abandon, your asshole sore and pained with every cantation of his hips. He was tearing you apart from the inside out, unrelenting and punishing. Your safe word balanced on the tip of your tongue, yet you withheld. You knew Joel would stop the moment you said the word, but you didn’t want him to. You wanted to prove you could be everything and more. You wanted to prove yourself until he wanted no other but you.

The pulse between your legs was unbearable. You were stretched out and gaping around his cock, void of any chance of release. Joel knew how your body responded; he was aware of how your hole contracted and flexed around him. Yet, he gave you nothing. He wouldn’t.

“Taking my cock so well, little flower,” he muttered between labored breaths. “Swallowing every inch of me.”

“Please, sir. Please, I want to cum,” you babbled.

The sting of his palm against your ass was his response to your pleas, a simple gesture to shut you up. You took it, though your body buzzed with pleasure in every limb.

“I know you do,” he crooned softly. “But you don’t get what you want. Only what I give you. So fucking take it.”

The world was caving around you, your vision blackening at the edges. Joel wound your braid over his fist and quickened his thrusts. Your body sagged into the bed, limp and pliant. Guttural sounds fell off Joel’s lips as he fucked you into the bed. Your ears deafened to the noise, your mouth hanging open and dripping spit into the soft bedspread beneath you. The erratic drive of his cock was the only warning you had to know he was close. Jagged, deep thrusts speared into you as Joel toppled over the edge with an animalist growl as he pumped his release into your fucked out hole. You twitched under his body, your knees slipping lower as your body gave out.

Despite the haze inside your mind, your lips tipped up into a satisfied grin. He used your body just as he wanted, and you proved fealty to him—ardent, unwavering submission to the one man who wove his way into your heart.

Joel pulled himself from you, slow and gentle, until the roll of his release was falling between your slit. You clenched around nothing, the tight ring of muscles aching painfully. He reached up to undo the silk bow holding your braid together, his fingers working through the soft waves as they floated over your back.

“Little flower,” he whispered, kissing your sweat-coated spine.

You flinched at his touch, not out of fear but of shock that still radiated through your muscles. You hadn’t fully returned to your mind, and Joel took notice. Working you onto your back, he roamed a hand over your breasts; his hand pressed firmly against the thrumming pulse of your heart. You stared up at him blankly, the tears now dried against your cheeks. What had been the face of cruelty only moments ago had now morphed into the soft, longing gaze you always yearned for. Joel’s pupils had returned to normal, the flecks of amber and rich chocolate boring into you with a look of concern.

“Thank you, sir,” you whispered.

He bent over you, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead. Your eyes fluttered close, relishing in the softness of his lips on your skin. You wanted this. You ached for it fiercely but could not form the words to beg for it.

“Stay here a moment,” he said.

You lay against the bed, your limbs twitching as you rolled onto your side. Curling into yourself, you fought off the tremors still wracking through your muscles, a steady pulse rhythmically beating within your clit. Joel denied you your orgasm, which he never did. It was your punishment for wanting too much—a miscalculated attempt at proving your worth.

The sound of running water drifted from the bathroom, followed by Joel’s heavy footsteps nearing the bed. With a quick unclasping of your bustier and a firm hand under your knees, Joel lifted you from the bed. You became weightless in his arms, cradling you to his sweaty chest. Wrapping a shaky arm around his shoulders, you rested your head inside the crook of his neck and exhaled an exhausted sigh.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said softly.

The pungent aroma of lavender and vanilla tinged your nose as Joel guided you into the bathtub. Immediately, your muscles unwound in their tension, a relieving groan expelling from your lips. The heat of the water soothed your tender flesh, the bubbles running over your bare skin in small clusters. Joel was dedicated to aftercare, especially after rougher sessions with you. This was no different. He always remained beside the bathtub, soothing you with praise as you tipped further into its warmth.

You blinked up at him, giving him a tired smile. He gave you a silent nod, then motioned for you to slide forward. He never bathed with you. It wasn’t a rule, per se, but he never granted it to you. This was different—foreign.

You slid your body as far as it could go, your knees pressed to your chest as Joel dipped into the water behind you. Hooking a strong arm around your abdomen, he pulled you flush with his body and dropped his mouth below the shell of your ear.

“You chose to anger me today,” he muttered. “I need the honest truth as to why you did it.”

You twisted your face around to meet his steady gaze, your bottom lip quivering while you debated if the truth was worth voicing.

“I wanted you to be possessive,” you admitted. “I wanted to know if you cared for me the way I care for you.”

Joel’s eyebrows raised slightly, the words shocking him.

“Of course, I care for you. Do I not show it well enough?”

“No—no, you do, sir. I just…I want to be the only one you care for.”

“You have been, little flower. There’s been no one else the entire time you’ve been with me,” he insisted.

You turned your body around, your knees bruising against the tile as you cupped his face. Never had you been so vulnerable with Joel, but you needed him to see your desperation. You needed him to see how committed you were to your role in his life.

“I want to be the only one,” you repeated. “I don’t want you to have another.”

Joel’s hands rested at the curve between your waist and hips, prodding your flesh soothingly.

“Is that what you want, little flower?” He questioned.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, sir. What matters is if it’s what you want.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, creases forming near his temple as he shut his eyes. Silence fell between you, so loud it fractured your heart. No answer was an answer. You failed in your attempts to prove yourself. You failed to make him want you more. He didn’t want you, no matter—.

“My sweet, little flower,” he sighed.

Fresh tears slipped down your cheek, and you made no effort to swat them away. It was useless when you knew you lost the one thing you wanted the most. Joel brushed his lips against yours, and you let a muffled cry escape.

“Rules can be rectified,” he started. “If this is something you wish, I’ll happily oblige.”

“Really?” You asked, pulling away.

You studied him for any sign of doubt, any stolen glance that may prove his words a lie. But he looked at you with complete devotion, irrevocable certainty.

“I want you just as badly. All you had to do was ask. There was no need for defiance or jealousy.”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“I think you’ve proven yourself more than enough today, little flower. Turn around so I can care for you properly.”

You slipped back into his warm embrace, your legs widening and pressed against his. Joel smoothed a hand down your stomach, his fingers tracing the swollen lips of your sex. You bucked into his hand, chasing the orgasm that still swam within your stomach. He drew slow, tantalizing circles over your soddened clit, muttering soft words into your ear.

“Such a good girl,” he cooed. “I know what you need. I’ll take care of you.”

“Yes—yes,” you panted, arching into his touch.

The pad of his finger pressed into the throbbing bud, the surging pleasure inside you growing agonizing. Bathwater sloshed around your body is rivulets, the push and pull of the waves crashing into the space where your skin didn’t touch. Closer and closer, he drove you to the edge until a delicious rapture tore through your body. Every muscle beneath your balmy skin seized upwards, a wail of relief echoing around the empty bathroom as you caved into your climax.

“That’s it, little flower. So beautiful when you come undone for me,” Joel mumbled into your ear, his teeth nipping at the lobe.

Shockwaves trembled over you as you slumped against his solid frame, your head falling back onto his shoulder. You had what you wanted. Body and soul, Joel granted your wish. Ecstasy wasn’t a strong enough word to describe the swelling inside your chest.

“Stay with me. More than just the weekends. I’ll have your things brought here, and you can stay permanently,” Joel offered. “This house is rather lonely without you in it, anyway.”

“Okay,” you submitted, a grin stretching across your face.

He was yours.

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